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ELIZABETH  •  W  •  CHAMPNEY 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

BEQUEST 

OF 

ANITA  D.  S.  BLAKE 


By  ELIZABETH   W.  CHAMPNEY 


ROMANCE   OF   THE  FEUDAL  CHATEAUX. 

ROMANCE   OF  THE    RENAISSANCE    CHA- 
TEAUX. 

ROMANCE  OF  THE  BOURBON  CHATEAUX. 

ROMANCE  OF  THE  FRENCH  ABBEYS. 


ROMANCE  OF 
THE  FRENCH  ABBEYS 


BY 

ELIZABETH  W.  CHAMPNEY 

AUTHOR  OF  "  ROMANCE  OF  THE  FEUDAL  CHATEAUX,"  ETC. 


ILLUSTRATED 


G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 

NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON 

Cbe  Rnicherbocber  press 

1905 


Copyright,  1905 

BY 

ELIZABETH  W.  CHAMPNEY 


GIFT 

Ube  fmicfcerbocfcer  press,  flew  IPorft 


DCQO 


TO    THE    MEMORY    OF 

MY  HUSBAND 

who  planned  this  volume 

and  to  my  son,  who  aided  in  executing  the  work 

it  is  lovingly  and  gratefully  dedicated  by 

The  Author 


70S 


PREFACE 

SCATTERED  throughout  the  length  and 
breadth  of  France,  almost  forgotten  in 
their  out  -  of  -  the  -way  nooks,  the  abbeys, 
though  forsaken  and  ruinous,  still  afford  fas- 
cinating shrines  of  pilgrimage  to  the  thought- 
ful tourist. 

The  architect  will  find  in  them  the  entire 
development  of  the  Romanesque  and  Gothic 
styles  and  the  first  dawn  of  the  Renaissance. 
He  will  feel  a  brother's  pride  in  the  achieve- 
ments of  the  architect  monks  of  Cluny,  who 
travelled  even  into  other  nations  building  the 
abbeys  of  their  order,  as  well  as  in  the  en- 
gineering exploits  of  that  other  brotherhood 
who  wore  the  red  hammer  embroidered  upon 
their  sleeves,  the  Freres  Pontifes,  or  bridge- 
builders,  who  spanned  great  rivers  with  for- 
tified bridges  which  endure  to  this  day,  that 
pilgrims  might  journey  to  the  Holy  Land,  and 
while  constructing  the  Pont  Saint  Esprit, 
which  crosses  the  Rhone,  believed  that  the 
divine  Son  of  the  Carpenter  laboured  with 
them.     He  will  trace  the  history  of  stained 


VI 


Preface 


glass  in  the  shattered  windows  of  the  abbeys, 
and  that  of  goldsmithry  and  enamelling  in 
the  chalices  and  reliquaries  preserved  in  the 
museums  as  precious  examples  of  the  riches 
which  once  filled  their  "tresors."  He  will 
admire  in  their  grilles  the  noble  craft  of  the 
iron-worker,  in  their  choir  stalls  that  of  the 
wood-carver,  and  in  their  tombs  the  art  of 
the  sculptor.  The  spoils  of  the  scriptoria  in 
the  National  Library  of  Paris  alone  will 
awaken  wonder  at  the  immense  patience  and 
skill  of  the  illuminators;  and  though  France 
can  boast  of  no  painter-monks  to  rank  with 
Fra  Angelico  and  Fra  Lippo  Lippi,  her  debt  to 
her  monasteries  in  the  department  of  letters 
is  deeper  than  that  of  Italy.  They  were  the 
first  universities,  their  monks  the  first  his- 
torians, and  they  furnished  a  refuge  not  alone 
for  saddened  and  penitent  hearts,  but  a  career 
for  refined  and  scholarly  minds. 

Of  such  absorbing  interest  is  the  art  of  the 
abbeys  that  the  connoisseur  may  be  par- 
doned indifference  to  their  creators,  should 
he  say  of  them  with  Browning : 

"  They  might  chirp  and  chaffer,  come  and  go, 
For  pleasure  or  profit  the  men  alive, 
My  business  was  hardly  with  them  I  trow, 
But  with  empty  cells  of  the  human  hive; 


Preface  vii 

"  With  the  chapter-room,  the  cloister  porch, 
The  church's  apsis,  aisle  or  nave, 
Its  crypt  one  fingers  along  with  a  torch, 
Its  face  set  full  for  the  sun  to  shave." 

The  empty  hives  are  themselves  fast  pass- 
ing from  the  scene.  The  massive  walls  of 
masonry,  which  neither  the  disintegrating 
forces  of  nature  nor  the  fierce  hatred  of  re- 
ligious wars  has  been  able  utterly  to  demolish, 
are  being  turned  to  secular  uses.  The  sup- 
pression of  the  religious  orders,  decreed  at 
the  time  of  the  French  Revolution,  has  at 
last  been  very  thoroughly  effected.  Distil- 
leries, factories,  barracks,  prisons  have  been 
established  in  some  of  the  noble  buildings; 
some  have  been  entirely  razed,  often  the 
chapel  only  subsists  as  the  present  parish 
church;  others  serve  as  quarries  for  the 
neighbourhood,  and  only  a  few  are  protected 
by  the  government  as  historical  monuments 
or  are  lovingly  cherished  by  private  owners. 

Certain  itineraries  found  especially  delight- 
ful by  the  author  in  different  vagrant  summers, 
in  Provence,  Savoy,  Burgundy,  Isle  de  France, 
and  Normandy,  are  outlined  in  the  last  chap- 
ter of  this  volume ;  but  the  present  age  is  one 
of  change,  and  he  who  would  see  even  the 
ruins  of  the  abbeys  must  act  quickly. 


Vlll 


Preface 


The  student  of  history,  the  lover  of  the 
great  drama  of  human  life,  will  find  in  them 
an  interest  different  from  that  of  the  artist, 
an  irresistible  desire  to  reconstruct  in  im- 
agination the  state  of  society,  the  mood  of 
mind,  and  form  of  faith  which  not  only  reared 
them,  but  made  them  in  their  time  a  bene- 
ficent influence.  He  will  tell  us  how  it  hap- 
pened that  at  the  close  of  the  "Dark  Ages," 
the  year  iooo  a.d.,  dawned  a  true  millen- 
nium, and  with  the  incredible  spread  of 
monasticism  and  the  building  of  many  hund- 
red abbeys  x  a  tidal  wave,  not  alone  of  re- 
ligious revival,  but  of  civilisation,  swept  over 
France.  He  will  explain  how,  in  an  age 
brutal  and  unscrupulous  beyond  our  concep- 
tion, persecutors  and  tyrants  stood  suddenly 
abashed  before  the  denunciation  of  the  Church, 

1  The  Benedictines  alone  at  the  time  of  their  greatest 
prosperity  boasted  thirty-seven  thousand  monasteries,  of 
which  a  great  part  were  in  France. 

The  Monasticon  Gallicarum,  a  book  written  in  1645  by 
Dom  Michel  Germain,  a  Benedictine  of  the  Congregation  of 
Saint  Maur,  gives  plates  of  one  hundred  and  sixty-eight  great 
French  abbeys  of  his  order  and  time. 

We  sketch  the  marvellous  history  of  the  Abbey  of  Cluny, 
with  its  hundreds  of  dependent  abbeys,  and  of  its  rival 
Citaux.  In  less  than  twenty-five  years  after  the  founding 
of  the  latter  abbey  it  sent  out  sixty  thousand  Cistercian 
monks,  and  in  1790  three  thousand  six  hundred  monasteries 
acknowledged  her  rule. 


Preface 


IX 


and  kings  like  Robert  II.,  in  fear  of  her  judg- 
ments, gave  up  their  best  beloved  at  her 
mandate,  while  Jezebels  such  as  Queen  Ber- 
trade  retired  to  lives  of  humiliation  in 
convents. 

We  Protestants  may  at  first  say,  patronis- 
ingly: 

There  's  something  in  that  ancient  superstition, 
Which,  erring  as  it  is,  our  fancy  loves; 

but  as  we  study  the  development  of  the  sys- 
tem we  must  acknowledge  that  in  its  begin- 
ning at  least  it  was  divine. 

It  is  not  within  the  scope  of  the  present 
volume  to  tell  how  the  good  fruit  ripened  and 
rotted,  how  Pope  Leo  X.  placed  in  the  hands 
of  Francis  I.  the  power  of  nominating  his 
favourites  as  commendatory  abbots,  and  how 
the  evil  grew  so  that  in  1788  there  were  fifteen 
thousand  ecclesiastical  sinecures  under  royal 
appointment,  and  abbots  were  sovereign 
princes  and  sybarites  took  the  places  of  saints 
until,  as  Dante  foretold,  the  flood  came  and 
destroyed  them  all.1      The  author  is  neither 

1  '*  The  walls  for  abbeys  reared  are  turned  to  dens. 
.     .     .     .     Jordan  was  turned  back 
And  a  less  wonder.     Thus  the  refluent  sea 
May  at  God's  pleasure  work  amendment  here." 

Paradiso,  Canto  XXXII. 


x  Preface 

archaeologist  nor  sociologist,  but  a  trovere  of 
romance.  She  has  brought  back  from  her 
pilgrimages  only  a  few  incidents  which  have 
moved  her  in  the  history  of  her  best -loved 
abbeys:  legends  of  the  Saints  Bernard  and 
Francis  from  Clairvaux  and  the  Abbey  of 
Montmajour;  a  tale  of  chivalrous  adventure 
from  a  Commandery  of  the  Knights  Hos- 
pitallers ;  the  story  of  the  ambition  of  one  of 
the  artisan  monks  of  Cluny;  an  echo  of  the 
horror  of  the  Inquisition  which  still  lingers 
about  the  dungeon  walls  of  Carcassonne,  and 
the  portal  of  Saint  Ouen;  the  tradition  of 
the  flowering  of  a  woman's  love  in  the  Gothic 
arches  of  the  abbey  church  of  Brou ;  a  fantasy 
from  Saint  Denis  of  the  childhood  of  Saint 
Louis;  a  burlesque  from  the  playwrights  of 
the  miracle  spectacles  from  Fecamp;  chron- 
icles of  passions  which  wrapped  like  flames 
the  abbey  fortresses  of  Vezelay  and  Mont 
Saint  Michel  during  the  strife  of  Huguenot 
and  Leaguer;  and  from  the  lovely  ruin  of 
Saint  Wandrille  a  story  of  the  revival  of  faith 
in  the  Jesuit  missions  at  the  time  when  France 
was  most  faithless. 

If  she  is  asked  what  romance  can  be  found 
in  communities  which  strove  to  eliminate  the 
eternal  feminine,  she  can  only  cite  Hallam, 


Preface  xi 

who  finds  that  love  plays  but  a  subordinate 
role  in  mediaeval  romances,  which,  he  asserts, 
repose  equally  on  three  columns — chivalry, 
gallantry,  and  religion. 

And  are  not  such  ambitions  as  the  love  of 
achievement  and  of  fame  in  scholarship  and 
in  art,  the  love  of  power,  and  the  love  of 
struggle  for  the  mere  joy  of  the  fight — such 
enthusiasms  as  devotion  to  one's  abbey  and 
one's  order,  or  purely  to  humanity — emotions 
as  worthy  of  the  soul  of  man,  and  as  interest- 
ing to  the  observer  in  their  development  as 
the  love  of  woman  ? 

Moreover,  that  love  was  not  always  want- 
ing. Often  it  existed  so  purified  from  pas- 
sion that  it  became  a  mystical  sentiment, 
supernatural  and  transcendent.  Sometimes 
alas!  (though  not  so  frequently  as  cavillers 
would  have  us  believe)  human  nature  was 
too  frail  for  such  sublime  renunciation,  and 
tragedies  like  that  of  Abelard  and  Heloise,  as 
well  as  the  pathetic  self-sacrifice  of  nobler 
souls,  point  the  moral  of  these  tales — that  the 
mistake  of  monasticism  was  celibacy. 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 


Preface iii 

CHAPTER 

I. — The  Golden  Mystery  .         .         .         .       i 
(An  Episode  in  the  History  of  the  Abbey 
of  Vezelay) 

II. — The  Masterpiece  of  Frere  Placide        35 
(A  Story  of  One  of  the  Artisan-Monks  of 
Cluny) 

III. — The  Wolf  of  Saint  Francis         .         .     50 
(From  the  Chronicles  of  the  Abbey  of 
Montmajour) 

IV. — The  Vision  of  Saint  Bernard      .        .     75 
(A  Legend  of  Clairvaux) 

V. — The  Tapestries  of  Bourganeuf  .         .     98 
(How  They  Came  to  the  Commanders  of 
the  Knights  Hospitallers) 

VI. — Intra  Muros 120 

(Being  the  Adventures  of  a  Red  Box) 

VII. — Ver  Vert 154 

(A  More  Complete  Account  of  Gresset's 
Parrot,  His  Naughty  Conversation, 
and  How  in  the  End  Good  was 
Wrought  Thereby) 

VIII. — The  Abbey  Church  of  Brou         .         .179 


xiv  Contents 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

IX. — The  Flageolet  of  Saint  Bruno  .  188 

(A  Legend  of  La  Grande  Chartreuse) 

X. — Fleur  d'Epine 210 

(An  Incident  in  the  Boyhood  of  Saint 
Louis) 

XL — The  Green  Dragon  of  Fecamp    .         .  226 

XII. — Mademoiselle  de  Folleville       .         .   236 
(Showing   How   Montgomery    Came   to 
Mont  Saint  Michel) 

XIII. — A  Fugitive  Abbot         ....   281 
(A    Romance    of   the    Abbey    of    Saint 
Wandrille) 

XIV. — The  Sin  of  Abbot  Nicolas   .         .         .318 

XV. — Abbey  Pilgrimages      ....  337 

Appendix:    Notes,   and  Authorities 

Consulted 393 


Page 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

PHOTOGRAVURES 

The  Child  Saint  Louis  Giving  Alms  at 
the  Portal  of  the  Abbey  of  Saint 
Denis  Frontispiece 

(For  text  see  page  222) 

From  the  painting  by  V.  Lesur 

(By  permission  of  Neurdein) 

The  Vision  of  Saint  Bernard  .         .       90 

From  the  painting  by  Filippino  Lippi 
(By  permission  of  V.  Jacquier) 

The  Gift  of  Jewels  .         .         .         .116 

From  the  tapestry  in  the  Cluny  Museum 
(By  permission  of  Paul  Robert) 

Bernard  Delicieux  Liberating  the  Pris- 
oners      ......     144 

From  the  painting  by  Jean  Paul  Laurens 
(By  permission  of  Neurdein) 

Tomb  of  Philibert  le  Beau,  in  the  Church 

of  Brou 182 


xvi  Illustrations 


Page 


Saint  Bruno  Receiving  the  Design  for  the 

Monastery  of  La  Grande  Chartreuse      200 

From  the  painting  by  E.  Le  Sueur  in  the  Louvre 
(By  permission  of  Dornach,  Paris) 

The  Return  of  the  Missionary  .         .     312 

From  the  painting  by  Vibert 

Joan  of  Arc 326 

From  a  painting  by  E.  W.  Joy 
(By  permission  of  Neurdein) 

The  Excommunication  of  Robert  the  Pious    34.0 

From  a  painting  by  Jean  Paul  Laurens 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

OTHER  THAN  PHOTOGRAVURE 

Page 

General  View  of  Vezelay         .         .         .         6 
Fortified  Gate,  Vezelay  .         .         .         6 

Wing  of  Cluny  Palace  at  Paris       .         .       42 

(By  permission  of  Levy  et  Fils) 

Entrance  of  Cluny  Palace  at  Paris  .         .       42 

(By  permission  of  Levy  et  Fils) 

Grille  of  Abbey  Church  of  Saint  Ouen,  at 

Rouen     ......       44 

St.  Francis  Preaching  to  the  Wolves         .       68 

From  the  painting  by  Luc  Olivier  Merson 

The  Wolf  of  St.  Francis  70 

From  a  painting  by  Luc  Olivier  Merson 

Tomb  of  Philippe  Pot  98 

Formerly  at  the  Abbey  of  Citeaux,  now  in  the  Louvre 


xviii  Illustrations 

Page 

Pierre  Dy  Aubusson         .         .         .         .no 

The  Tower  of  Zizim        .         .         .         .no 

"The  Tones  of  the  Organ  Charmed  the 

Beasties  of  the  Wood."  .         .114 

(By  permission  of  Paul  Robert) 

Walls  of  Carcassonne      ....     120 

(By  permission  of  Neurdein) 

Ver  Vert  at  the  Convent  of  the  Visitan- 

dines 158 

From  an  old  print,  permission  of  Longmans, 
Green  &  Co. 

Mistletoe  Border  in  color     174 

From  the  "  Livre  d'Heures"  of  Anne  de  Bre- 
tagne  in  the  Bibliotheque  National  at  Paris.  The 
illuminations  were  executed  by  Jean  Bourdichon 
in  the  early  part  of  the  sixteenth  century. 

Rood  Screen  in  the  Church  of  Brou  .     180 

Margaret  of  Austria        .         .         .         .186 

Statues  on  her  tomb  in  the  Church  of  Brou 

Monastery  of  La  Grande  Chartreuse        .     ip6 

(By  permission  of  Neurdein) 

The  Needle  202 

(By  permission  of  Neurdein) 


Illustrations  xix 

Page 

Approach  to  the  Monastery  of  La  Grande 

Chartreuse       .....     202 

{By  permission  of  Neurdein) 

The  Building  of  the  Church  .         .212 

From  an  old  print 

The  Vase  of  Suger  .         .         .  212 

From  "  U  Art  Gothique"  by  Louis  Gonse 

Twelfth   Century   Glass.     Abbey   of   St. 

Denis       ....  In  color      216 

From  a  water-colour  of  the  window 
by  John  Sanford  Humphreys 

Old  Abbey  Church  of  Fecamp  .         .     228 

Statue  of  the  Monk  Vincelli,  Inventor  of 

the  Benedictine  Elixir      .         .         .     236 

{By  permission  of  Neurdein) 

Chdteau  of  Lion-sur-Mer         .         .         .260 

Entrance    to   the  Abbey  of  Mont   Saint 

Michel    ......     270 

The  Sands  from  the  Roof  of  the  Abbey  of 

Mont  Saint  Michel .         .         .  280 

Monumental  Gateway  in  the  Style  of  the 

1 8th  Century,  Louis  XV.  .         .     282 

{By  permission  of  Neurdein) 


xx  Illustrations 


Page 


Gateway,  15  th  Century,  Abbey  of  Saint 

Wandrille 282 

(By  permission  of  Neurdein) 

Gate  of  the  Virgin,  Saint  Wandrille         .     2Q0 

(By  permission  of  Neurdein) 

Ruins  of  Church  of  the  Abbey  of  Saint 

Wandrille        .....     2go 

(By  permission  of  Neurdein) 

Cloister  of  Saint  Wandrille     .         .         .310 

(By  permission  of  Neurdein) 

Cloister,  VAbbaye  de  la  Vigne  .         .     310 

Ruins  of  the  Abbey  of  Jumieges       .         .     318 

(By  permission  of  Levy  et  Fils) 

Tomb  at  the  Abbey  of  Clermont        .         -3^8 
Abbey  Church  of  Saint  Ouen,  Rouen        .     334 

(By  permission  of  Levy  et  Fils) 

VAbbaye  aux  Dames,  Caen    .         .         .     334 

Ruins  of  the  Abbey  of   Valmont,   near 

Fecamp 336 

(By  permission  of  Neurdein) 

Ruins  of  Abbey  of  Valmont — Interior      .     344 


Illustrations  xxi 

Page 

Ruins  of  the  Abbey  of  La  Victoire  .         .     348 

(By  permission  of  Neurdein) 

Donjon  of  the  Chateau  of  Montbazon       .     348 

(By  permission  of  Neurdein) 

UAbbe  de  Ranc6 336 

Romance  of  the  Comte  de  Comminges       .     336 

From  an  engraving  by  Risen 

Palace  of  the  Pope  Gelase,  at  the  Abbey  of 

Cluny 366 

Cloister  of  the  Abbey  of  Fontfroide  .     3J0 

(By  permission  of  Paul  Robert) 

Cloister  of  the  Abbey  of  Moissac      .         .     370 
Chapter  House  of  the  Abbey  of  Vezelay     .     384 

(By  permission  of  Neurdein) 

Church  of  La  Madeleine,  Abbey  of  Vezelay     386 

From  "  Villes  du  Departement  de  V  Yonne  "  by 
Victor  Petit 

Church  of  the  Abbey  of  La  Chaise  Dieu  .     386 

(By  permission  of  Neurdein) 


ROMANCE  OF 
THE  FRENCH  ABBEYS 


CHAPTER  I 

THE  GOLDEN  MYSTERY 

'""THAT  is  what  all  the  wise  ones  called  it, 
*  Madame.  They  were  as  much  puzzled 
as  the  simplest  when  the  old  Abbot  Heri- 
bert's  tomb  was  opened  and  all  that  golden 
glory  flashed  before  them. 

"They  had  gathered  from  far  and  near, 
for  the  great  architect  Monsieur  Viollet-le-Duc 
had  come  from  Paris  to  make  such  restora- 
tions as  he  thought  fit  in  this  ancient  Abbey 
of  Vezelay,  and  it  was  surmised  that  interest- 
ing discoveries  might  be  made. 

"So,   when  my  father,   who  was  master- 


2  French  Abbeys 

mason,  with  his  force  of  assistants,  lifted  the 
lid  of  the  sarcophagus  in  that  canopied 
niche, — a  heavy  lid,  as  Madame  sees,  for  the 
effigy  of  Abbot  Heribert  was  carved  upon  it, 
— all  the  learned  ones  who  stood  around 
craned  their  necks  like  the  gargoyles  over  the 
church  door. 

"They  had  read  the  record  of  the  saintly 
life  of  this  good  man  who  lived  and  died  away 
back  in  the  tenth  century,  for  it  is  engraved 
in  Latin  on  the  brazen  plate.  His  statue, 
too,  has  a  certain  dignity  even  in  its  mutila- 
tion, robed  in  full  canonicals  with  its  thin 
hands  piously  folded  over  its  quiet  breast. 
To  have  found  those  carven  vestments  dupli- 
cated in  costly  stuffs  would  have  surprised 
no  one,  but  a  cry  of  astonishment  echoed 
through  the  church  when  it  was  perceived 
that  the  gorgeous  robe  of  cloth  of  gold  now 
revealed  was  a  woman's,  that  the  form  it 
shrouded  was  a  woman's,  and  a  little  woman's 
at  that.  The  tiny  pinched  face  was  framed 
in  black  hair,  which  swept  from  under  a  red 
velvet  cap  to  the  very  tips  of  her  dainty 
shoes. 

"But  what  changed  the  first  dazzled  ex- 
clamation of  admiration  of  the  queenly  gem- 
broidered  robe  to  one  of  horror  was  the  sight 


The  Golden  Mystery  3 

of  a  ghastly,  gaping  wound  in  the  little  lady's 
forehead,  the  frontal  bone  crushed  to  splin- 
ters by  some  murderous  blow,  and  the  beauti- 
ful hair  torn  and  clotted. 

"When  the  corpse  had  remained  for  a 
time  exposed  to  the  air  it  crumbled  to  dust, 
but  the  gold  threads  in  the  woof  of  its  dress 
were  pure  metal  and  did  not  vanish  with  the 
rest.  The  government  claimed  the  robe  and 
it  was  carried  away  to  some  museum. 

"The  learned  ones  wrangled  long  over  the 
'Golden  Mystery,'  as  it  was  popularly  named, 
and  some  said  it  was  the  robe  in  which  Queen 
Eleanor  listened  here  at  Vezelay  to  the 
preaching  of  the  Second  Crusade  by  Saint 
Bernard,  and  that  she  had  sent  it  to  the 
Abbey  as  a  souvenir  of  her  visit.  But  none 
could  solve  the  riddle  of  why  it  shrouded  the 
little  lady  with  the  fractured  skull,  nor  why 
she  should  have  been  laid  to  rest  in  the 
Abbot's  tomb. 

"Golden  and  grim  it  remained  a  mystery 
to  those  learned  ones,  but  its  solution  has 
been  granted  to  me,  Madame,  simple  peasant 
though  I  am,  for  I  have  pondered  and  brooded 
over  it  all  my  life,  and  have  pieced  together 
every  scrap  of  history  that  has  fallen  in  my 
way,  and  all  the  legends  of  the  old  people, 


4  French  Abbeys 

until  suddenly  one  night  I  saw  it  all  crystal 
clear,  and  knew  that  only  in  this  way  could 
it  have  happened.  It  was  when  my  father 
told  me  that  among  the  bits  of  bones,  which 
the  learned  ones  had  overlooked  in  the  dust 
of  the  tomb,  he  had  found  a  finger-joint  and 
on  it  a  marriage  ring  with  the  initials  '  O.  de  C. 
to  E.  de  H.'  I  have  the  ring  and  the  bit  of 
blackened  bone  still,  Madame,  to  witness  if 
I  lie." 

Our  guide,  Martin  Quatrevaux,  tugged  at  a 
stout  string  which  encircled  his  neck  and  drew 
from  his  bosom  a  soiled  chamois-skin  bag, 
and  from  the  bag  the  relic  of  which  he  spoke. 
If  a  forgery  it  had  been  cunningly  prepared, 
and  the  man's  face  was  too  honest  for  the 
most  sceptical  to  harbour  suspicion.  Beside 
the  initials  there  was  the  date  1569,  and 
everything  was  clear. 

"Odet  de  Coligny  to  Elizabeth  de  Haute- 
ville!"  we  exclaimed,  and  Quatrevaux  nodded 
gravely. 

''Madame  is  not  like  certain  other  tourists 
who  visit  Vezelay,"  he  said,  "Madame  is  not 
so  ignorant  as  one  might  suppose,  while  those 
others — croyez  vous,  I  have  shown  the  ring 
to  certain  imbeciles  who  not  only  could  not 
guess  for  what  names  the  initials  stood,  but 


The  Golden  Mystery  5 

had  never  even  heard  of  the  great  Colignys. 
Sheep — calves!  Is  it  possible  that  human 
beings  can  be  so  idiotic?" 

"We  know  very  little  more,  Quatrevaux," 
we  replied,  ' '  beyond  the  fact  that  the  brother 
of  the  great  Gaspard  de  Coligny  was,  before 
his  excommunication,  Abbot  of  this  mag- 
nificent Abbey." 

"And  afterward,  Madame.  It  was  not 
until  the  Mother  Church  cast  him  out  that 
Odet  de  Coligny  troubled  himself  greatly 
about  Vezelay.  Cardinal  at  sixteen,  Arch- 
bishop of  I  know  not  how  many  wealthy  sees, 
and  flattered  at  Court,  he  had  little  use  for 
this  lonely  fortress.  But  when  he  took  his 
stand  with  the  Huguenots  and  fought  by  the 
side  of  his  great  brother  the  Admiral  at  the 
battle  of  St.  Denis,  and  was  excommunicated 
and  banished,  tracked  and  betrayed,  and  in 
danger  of  his  life — then  the  monks  of  Vezelay 
(who  had  already  been  converted  to  Pro- 
testantism by  one  of  their  own  number,  Theo- 
dore de  Beze)  acclaimed  their  heretic  Abbot, 
and  this  Abbey  became  his  sure  castle  of 
defence. 

"It  was  not  just  on  account  of  his  religion, 
I'm  thinking,  but  because  along  with  that 
he  had  shown  himself  a  worthy  successor  of 


6  French  Abbeys 

the  old  fighting  Abbots  of  Vezelay,  for  that 
is  the  tradition — the  Abbey  is  a  citadel,  the 
strongest  in  this  part  of  Burgundy,  and  its 
lords  have  ever  been  more  expert  with  the 
mace  than  with  preaching.  Come  out  on  the 
terrace,  Madame,  and  look  at  the  walls  and 
tell  me  if  Vezelay  is  not  a  place  to  tempt  men 
to  be  obstinate  and  to  have  the  courage  of 
their  opinions." 

Such  it  was  and  still  is,  for  the  ruins  of  this 
citadel  Abbey  of  Vezelay  rise  on  an  isolated 
spur  of  one  of  the  mountain  ranges  of  the 
Morvan,  lonely  and  invincible  even  in  their 
decay,  a  fortress  that  a  handful  of  men  might 
still  hold  against  an  army. 

Invincible  the  Abbey  has  always  remained 
through  all  the  storms  of  war  which  have 
swept  through  Burgundy.  Its  fighting  Ab- 
bots were  distinguished  even  before  the  Eng- 
lish invasion,  when  Hughes  de  Maison  Comte 
was  made  prisoner  with  his  men-at-arms  at 
the  battle  of  Poitiers. 

It  was  during  this  Abbot's  imprisonment 
in  England  that  Vezelay  fortified  itself  still 
more  strongly,  that  the  massive  encircling 
walls  and  huge  sentinel  towers  sprang  up 
which  enabled  its  monks  to  laugh  defiance 
when   English   Edward   III.    cavalcaded   by 


GENERAL  VIEW  OF  VEZELAY. 


FORTIFIED  GATE,  VEZELAY. 


The  Golden  Mystery  7 

their  very  gates,  and  which  guarded  the 
Abbey  inviolate  through  every  subsequent 
attack. 

Knowing  as  much  as  this  it  was'  pleasant 
to  find  an  enthusiast  in  the  guide  who  showed 
us  Vezelay.  A  Protestant,  like  many  of  the 
descendants  of  the  refugees  who  sought  asy- 
lum here  during  the  sixteenth  century  from 
the  massacres  in  Lorraine,  he  had  preserved 
a  certain  isolation  from  his  Catholic  neigh- 
bours, and  united  to  great  simplicity  a  dignity 
of  speech  and  more  of  intelligence  than  is  usu- 
ally to  be  met  with  in  the  French  peasant . 
He  cherished  a  positive  worship  for  the  mem- 
ory of  Odet  de  Coligny,  and  his  spirited  wife, 
Elizabeth  de  Haute ville,  and  he  firmly  be- 
lieved the  story  which  he  told  us  of  the  here- 
tic Abbot  and  the  noble  woman  whose  love 
during  the  last  decade  of  his  adventurous 
life  was  his  guiding  star,  and,  in  despite  of 
the  doom  which  dogged  his  steps  and  finally 
overtook  him,  was  also  his  exceeding  great 
reward. 

"It  all  began  in  this  way,  Madame.  Odet 
de  Coligny  was  pacing  this  terrace  one  fair 
evening  in  June  very  much  as  we  are  doing 
now — looking  out  on  the  level  champaign 
which  stretched  away  all  green  with  growing 


8  French  Abbeys 

crops  and  pasture  until  it  met  the  darker 
forest-covered  hills.  The  scent  of  the  Annun- 
ciation lilies  in  the  Abbey  garden  was  borne 
to  him  on  the  soft  air,  and  the  nightingales 
were  singing  in  the  acacias.  But  his  heart 
was  burdened  with  care,  not  for  himself  alone, 
but  for  his  hot-headed  monks,  an  obstinate 
flock,  determined  to  wander  far  from  the  fold 
of  the  Church  with  which  he  was  then  hoping 
for  reconciliation. 

1 '  Slowly  the  sunset  faded  and  a  white  mist 
rolled  over  the  plain  like  the  tide  of  doubt 
and  perplexity  which  was  overwhelming  him. 
He  lifted  his  heart  to  God,  beseeching  a  sign 
that  he  was  not  forsaken,  and  suddenly,  just 
above  the  line  of  the  hill  yonder  to  the  north- 
east, a  star  glittered,  blue  as  a  great  sapphire. 
Other  familiar  stars  wheeled  into  sight  and 
moved  through  the  heavens,  but  this  strange 
new  one  neither  rose  nor  disappeared,  but 
hung  low  on  the  horizon,  piercing  the  dark 
with  its  steady  radiance. 

"He  gazed  at  it  long  and  wonderingly,  and 
retired  to  dream  that  an  angel  had  lighted  it 
in  answer  to  his  prayer.  He  awoke  in  the 
early  morning  with  this  conviction,  and  open- 
ing his  casement  saw  the  star  still  shining, 
though  dawn  had  brightened  the  sky  above 


The  Golden  Mystery  9 

it  and  other  stars  were  dim,  and  not  till  the 
sun  shot  up  in  all  its  glory  did  its  light  entirely 
go  out. 

"  Now,  if  the  Abbot  had  known  as  much  as 
Madame  probably  does  about  astronomy,  he 
would  have  recognised  that  this  was  no  heav- 
enly body,  but  even  so  it  might  have  seemed 
to  him  the  more  miraculous,  for  through  the 
perplexing  days  that  followed,  he  was  up- 
borne by  the  thought  that  the  star  was  a 
pledge  of  sustaining  grace.  Night  after  night 
he  sought  and  found  it.  Its  pure  calm  beam 
entered  his  very  soul  and  filled  him  with 
celestial  peace,  helping  him  to  bear  his  heavy 
weight  of  responsibility  and  to  move  with 
serene  dignity  in  the  midst  of  this  great 
crisis  of  his  life. 

"The  Abbot  was  returning  late  one  night 
from  a  conference  with  Conde  at  his  brother 
d'Andelot's  Chateau  of  Tanlay.  He  was 
mounted  on  his  white  mule  Humilite,  while 
his  valet  Gaucelim  jogged  behind  him,  and  it 
was  an  unspeakable  consolation  as  he  neared 
Vezelay  to  see  that  his  star  was  shining 
calmly  above  the  opposite  range  of  hills. 

'"  Ave  Maria  Stella  Maris/  he  chanted,  and 
Gaucelim  followed  questioningly  the  direc- 
tion of  his  master's  gaze. 


io  French  Abbeys 

'"Do  you  not  see  it,  Gaucelim?'  the  Abbot 
asked,  'my  star — lighted  by  my  good  angel 
for  my  benediction  ? ' 

"'That  is  no  star,  my  master/  Gaucelim 
replied,  'but  a  feu  follet,  a  will-o'-the-wisp 
sent  by  the  evil  one  to  mislead  travellers.  I 
saw  it  as  I  was  coming  back  to  Vezelay  from 
visiting  my  sweetheart  at  Chastellux.  It  is 
not  in  the  sky  as  it  appears  from  this  side  of 
the  hill,  but  is  a  little  dancing  fire  that  nutters 
over  the  old  burial-ground  on  the  Col  de  Mont 
Joie.  I  saw  it  move  from  the  gate  to  the 
little  mound  in  the  centre,  where  stands  the 
old  disused  lanterne  des  morts.  There  it 
paused,  and,  as  I  was  curious  as  to  what  this 
might  signify,  I  entered  the  cemetery  and 
found  a  tiny  taper  burning  in  the  glass  globe 
which  stands  on  the  stone  pillar.  But  there 
was  no  one  in  the  lonely  graveyard ;  the  sexton 
lives  in  the  valley  below  and  never  visits  it 
except  to  dig  a  grave.  It  came  over  me  that 
some  ghoul  or  ghost  had  lighted  it  to  work  an 
evil  spell  on  Christians,  and  I  ran  up  to  it 
and  beat  out  the  flame  with  my  hat.  When 
I  was  half-way  down  the  hill  I  looked  back 
and  I  saw  that  it  was  lighted  again,  though 
I  had  left  no  living  soul  in  the  burying-ground 
and  no  one  had  passed  me  on  the  road.' 


The  Golden  Mystery  n 

"Odet  de  Coligny  was  not  so  superstitious 
as  to  believe  his  valet's  theory  that  the  lamp 
in  the  old  lanterne  des  morts  had  been  lighted 
by  ghosts;  the  thing  must  have  some  natural 
explanation.  Accordingly,  late  the  following 
afternoon  he  mounted  Humilite  and  rode 
away  alone  in  the  direction  of  the  graveyard 
on  the  hill.  He  found,  as  Madame  will  to-day 
if  she  takes  the  trouble  to  visit  the  spot,  a  row 
of  tombs  backed  against  the  wall  on  every 
side,  and  the  space  so  fenced  in  filled  with 
crosses  and  slabs  adorned  with  wreaths  of 
bead-work,  which  tinkled  elfishly  in  the  even- 
ing breeze.  In  the  very  centre  of  the  square, 
with  four  paths  leading  up  to  it,  stood  the 
lanterne  des  morts,  a  pinnacled  pillar  with  a 
tiny  phare  (lighthouse)  protected  by  glass, 
where  in  other  times  a  lighted  lamp  was  hung 
by  pious  hands.  But  no  one  had  been 
buried  here  for  years,  the  cemetery  was  re- 
mote and  the  hill  steep,  and  the  custom  had 
long  fallen  into  neglect.  The  shadows  deep- 
ened and  the  Abbot  was  about  to  turn  from 
the  cemetery  when  suddenly  a  gleam  of  light 
twinkled  in  one  of  the  tombs.  He  had  only 
time  to  step  behind  a  yew  tree  when  the 
grille  grated  harshly  on  its  rusted  hinges, 
and  a  figure  clothed  in  white  issued  from  the 


12  French  Abbeys 

sepulchre,  holding  in  one  hand  a  taper  float- 
ing in  a  blue  glass.  The  spectre,  or  maiden, 
walked  rapidly  to  the  lanterne  des  morts, 
placed  the  little  light  in  its  niche,  and  knelt 
for  a  moment  at  the  base  in  prayer.  The 
Abbot  stepped  impulsively  from  the  shelter 
of  the  yew  tree  with  a  '  Peace  be  with  you,  my 
daughter/ 

"In  spite  of  the  words  intended  to  be  re- 
assuring, the  startled  girl  fled  with  a  faint  cry 
to  the  tomb  from  which  she  had  appeared, 
and  closed  the  iron  gate  behind  her.  Through 
its  bars  the  Abbot  could  see  that  the  tomb 
had  another  door  at  its  back,  opening  through 
the  wall  of  the  cemetery  into  the  park  of  a 
country  residence.  The  young  woman  had 
neglected,  in  her  haste,  to  close  this  door  and 
he  could  see  her  fleeing  across  the  greensward 
toward  a  small  chateau,  that  of  Mont  Joie, 
belonging  to  the  old  Comte  de  Hauteville. 

"The  Abbot  smiled.  The  lady  was  evi- 
dently a  member  of  the  Count's  household, 
and  was  in  the  habit  of  entering  the  cemetery 
by  the  family  tomb  to  tend  this  lantern  for 
the  lonely  dead,  because  she  herself  dreaded 
the  dark.  It  was  a  strange  result  of  his  dis- 
covery that  his  supposed  star  was  only  a  lamp 
lighted  by  human  hands,  that  its  beam  still 


The  Golden  Mystery  13 

continued  to  exercise  the  same  sustaining 
effect  upon  his  spirit.  He  looked  for  it  each 
evening,  and  prayed  that  its  unknown  guardian 
might  receive  the  same  comfort  in  her  own 
troubles  which  all  unwittingly  she  had  min- 
istered to  him. 

"Why  make  a  long  story  when  what  fol- 
lowed is  so  evident?  After  that  the  Abbot 
was  a  frequent  visitor  at  the  Chateau  of 
Mont  Joie — he  loved  the  very  name,  and 
found  it  strangely  appropriate — and  he  met 
Mademoiselle  also  at  his  brother's  Chateau 
of  Tanlay,  or  at  Conde's  at  Noyers,  for  the 
Protestant  nobility  drew  together  in  these 
troublous  times.  It  was  written  in  heaven 
that  they  should  belong  to  each  other.  When 
Elizabeth  de  Hauteville  was  away  from  home, 
Odet  de  Coligny  knew  it,  for  no  star  beamed 
for  him,  and  forthwith  an  ungovernable  rest- 
lessness possessed  him,  and  he  called  for 
Humilite  and  ambled  away  to  Noyers  to  visit 
his  dear  cousin  of  Conde:  but  if  Elizabeth 
were  not  there,  Conde's  discussion  of  politics 
became  to  him  as  the  vain  patter  of  the  rain 
upon  the  eaves,  and  he  felt  it  incumbent  upon 
him  to  fare  farther  to  assure  himself  of  the 
health  and  well-being  of  his  brother  d' Andelot. 

"She  was  at  Tanlay  on  the  breaking  out  of 


14  French  Abbeys 

the  second  civil  war,  and  herself  buckled  on 
his  armour  before  he  set  out  for  the  battle- 
field of  St.  Denis.  D'Andelot  was  shouting 
to  his  brother  that  his  Vezelaian  arquebusiers 
had  arrived  and  were  demanding  their  com- 
mander, and  that  it  was  time  to  be  off.  They 
had  but  an  instant  more  together,  but  in  that 
instant  all  barriers  were  swept  away  like 
stubble  before  devouring  flame,  and  Odet  de 
Coligny  knew  that  his  excommunication  had 
brought  him  the  greatest  blessing  of  his  life. 

''The  campaign  was  a  short  one,  and  on 
his  return  to  Tanlay  Theodore  de  Beze,  now 
the  Admiral's  chaplain,  united  him  to  Eliza- 
beth de  Haute ville  in  the  little  chapel,  in  the 
presence  of  the  Coligny  family,  the  Condes, 
and  a  few  other  true  and  tried  friends. 

"The  marriage  was  not  immediately  made 
public,  and  Elizabeth  returned  to  the  Chateau 
Mont  Joie,  to  be  near  her  husband  and  to 
await  certain  negotiations  which  it  was  be- 
lieved would  put  the  Protestants  on  an  equal 
footing  with  the  Romanists.  It  was  at  this 
juncture  that  the  lanterne  des  morts,  at  first 
so  piously  tended,  with  no  thought  of  any 
personal  gain,  became  a  means  of  communi- 
cation between  them.  They  developed  an 
alphabet  of  flashes  by  means  of  alternately 


The  Golden  Mystery  15 

shading  and  displaying  the  light  and  shooting 
it  from  different  sides  of  the  lantern.  Odet, 
who  dabbled  in  chemistry,  gave  her  a  prepar- 
ation of  lime  which  burned  with  intense 
brilliancy  and  could  be  seen  even  on  cloudy 
nights.  They  could  now  hold  long  conver- 
sations with  each  other,  and  though  peasants 
occasionally  noted  the  shooting  beams  they 
universally  attributed  them  to  the  feux 
follets,  the  ghost  fires  or  will-o'-the-wisps. 

"Soon  the  Abbot  had  many  serious  matters 
to  communicate  to  his  wife.  Both  Pro- 
testants and  Catholics  were  preparing  quite 
openly  for  the  third  religious  war,  the  bitter- 
est and  longest  which  had  distracted  France. 
The  Protestant  leaders  were  encouraged  now 
by  messages  from  Jeanne  d'Albret  that  she 
would  meet  them  at  the  first  sign  of  the 
breaking  out  of  hostilities  at  La  Rochelle 
with  her  young  son,  Henri  of  Navarre,  who 
burned  to  serve  his  first  campaign  under 
Gaspard  de  Coligny. 

"The  eyes  of  all  France  were  soon  to  be 
fixed  on  this  young  hero.  Already  that 
serpent  of  a  woman,  Catherine  de'  Medici, 
recognised  him  as  a  power  to  be  reckoned 
with,  crushed  if  possible,  conciliated  if  he 
could  not  be  crushed.     He  stood  very  near 


16  French  Abbeys 

the  throne.  If  her  sons  left  no  heirs  he  was 
the  next  in  line.  Very  soon  her  plots  would 
succeed,  and  she  would  marry  him  to  her 
beautiful  daughter,  Marguerite  de  Valois. 
But  while  she  schemed  the  Colignys  also 
formed  their  plans.  The  one  hope  for  Pro- 
testantism in  France  lay  in  the  intervention 
of  England.  If  Queen  Elizabeth  would  es- 
pouse their  cause,  the  King  of  France  would 
not  dare  coerce  his  subjects  of  the  Reformed 
Faith.  The  Virgin  Queen  was  much  older 
than  the  King  of  Navarre,  then  but  fifteen, 
but  age  does  not  matter  in  royal  alliances. 
It  was  agreed  to  send  an  ambassador  to  offer 
the  Queen  of  England  the  hand  of  Henri  of 
Navarre — and  Odet  de  Coligny  was  selected 
as  the  one  who  could  best  perform  this 
mission,  and  his  wife  was  secretly  prepar- 
ing to  accompany  him. 

"Gaucelim  had  Coligny' s  sumpter  mules 
loaded  with  necessities  for  the  journey  and 
was  at  his  door  with  Humilite  in  the  early 
dawn  of  the  sixth  of  October,  1569,  and  the 
Abbot,  bidding  farewell  to  the  chosen  few 
who  had  been  informed  of  his  intended 
mission,  was  about  to  set  foot  in  stirrup, 
when  the  great  alarm-bell  of  the  monastery 
rang  out  peal  on  peal,  and  the  warden  came 


The  Golden  Mystery  17 

running  to  tell  him  that  the  plain  was  alive 
with  galloping  artillerymen,  who  were  hur- 
riedly drawing  up  their  pieces  in  a  threatening 
attitude  before  the  gates  of  the  Abbey. 

'  'It  was  the  advance  guard  of  the  royal 
army  under  General  Sansac,  which  had  sur- 
prised them.  They  were  in  a  state  of  siege, 
and  with  the  exception  of  the  false  varlet 
Gaucelim,  who  ran  away  that  night,  not  so 
much  as  a  mouse  might  enter  or  issue  for 
many  weary  months  from  the  beleaguered 
Vezelay. 

"It  was  not  so  easy  a  matter  to  reduce 
this  impregnable  Abbey  as  Sansac  had  im- 
agined. The  monks  were  courageous,  and 
made  many  sorties,  surprising  and  inflicting 
great  loss  upon  their  besiegers;  though  they 
could  not  entirely  drive  them  away.  But 
Sansac  had  come  to  spend  the  winter,  and  he 
waited  for  all  his  battalions  to  arrive  and 
especially  for  Marshal  Famine,  well  knowing 
that  the  beseiged  would  fight  with  less  heart 
when  their  stomachs  were  empty. 

"He  had  chosen  for  his  own  headquarters 
the  Chateau  of  Mont  Joie  because  it  gave  so 
extended  a  view  of  the  plain  to  the  east  of 
Vezelay  and  of  the  monastery  itself.  He 
left  the  de  Hautevilles  in  possession  of  the 


1 8  French  Abbeys 

wing  nearest  the  little  graveyard,  but  told 
them  that  they  must  submit  for  their  own 
safety  to  certain  rules  of  his  making,  one  of 
the  most  important  of  which  was  that  they 
must  not  leave  the  grounds  of  the  chateau. 
So  they  were  both  his  prisoners  and  his  hosts, 
for  he  ate  at  their  table. 

"Elizabeth  noted  with  satisfaction  that  the 
guard  of  the  chateau  patrolled  the  outer  wall 
of  the  cemetery  and  that  her  access  through 
the  family  tomb  to  the  lanterne  des  morts  was 
unimpeded.  She  could  still  hold  communi- 
cation with  her  husband,  and  she  established 
it  that  night,  sending  him  advices  from  the 
enemy's  very  headquarters.  It  was  a  great 
comfort  to  her  to  receive  his  answering  signal, 
as  it  was  to  Odet  de  Coligny  to  know  that  she 
was  unmolested.  They  cautiously  avoided 
too  frequent  communication  and  for  a  time 
it  was  undiscovered. 

"The  siege  of  Vezelay  continued  all  winter. 
Sansac  trained  his  guns  on  the  fortifications 
of  the  monastery  to  no  effect.  His  army 
dwindled,  hundreds  of  men  were  killed  in  the 
sorties  during  the  winter,  while  the  mortality 
among  the  besieged  was  very  trifling. 

"But  when  spring  came  the  crisis  on  which 
Sansac  had  counted  arrived.     Provisions  be- 


The  Golden  Mystery  19 

gan  to  give  out  in  the  Abbey.  The  arms  of 
the  windmill  whirled  as  busily  as  ever,  but  it 
was  a  feint  to  deceive  the  besiegers,  for  the 
granaries  were  empty — there  was  no  wheat 
to  grind.  And  now,  with  insufficient  and  poor 
food,  the  pest  broke  out,  and  each  day  the 
body  of  an  emaciated  monk  was  laid  in  the 
little  burying-ground  of  the  Abbey.  Odet 
told  Elizabeth  of  their  sore  need,  but  she,  a 
prisoner,  was  powerless  to  help  him,  until 
one  day  to  her  great  surprise  she  recognised 
among  the  hangers-on  who  awaited  in  the 
castle  court  an  audience  with  General  San- 
sac,  who  but  her  husband's  valet,  Gaucelim. 
The  recognition  was  mutual,  though  Gaucelim 
avoided  her  gaze,  and  as  there  were  others 
present  she  could  not  have  told  that  his  in- 
difference was  not  feigned  had  she  not  been 
warned  by  Odet  of  his  desertion.  Filled 
with  curiosity  as  to  his  mission  with  General 
Sansac,  she  was  minded  that  the  General's 
favourite  chair  was  close  beside  a  window 
which  opened  into  the  garden,  and  that  the 
shrubbery  beneath  it  was  dense  enough  to 
screen  an  eavesdropper.  She  slipped  to  the 
garden,  and  under  hiding  of  the  flowering 
bushes  stole  close  to  the  open  casement, 
and  was  presently  rewarded  by  hearing  the 


20  French  Abbeys 

conversation  between  the  General  and  Gauce- 
lim.     The  traitor  spoke  first  of  her. 

"  'Do  you  know,  my  General,  that  you 
have  the  Abbot  of  Vezelay  in  your  power? 
Mademoiselle  de  Hauteville  is  his  bien  aimee 
and  maintains  a  correspondence  with  him  in 
some  way  that  I  have  not  been  able  to  dis- 
cover. Through  her  you  can  entrap  him  if 
you  but  allow  her  to  lure  him  from  the  Abbey. 
You  can  do  even  more.  I  know  of  a  surety 
that  Odet  de  Coligny  has  letters  of  importance 
which  he  was  to  carry  to  England.  I  would 
have  lured  him  with  them  into  your  power 
had  you  but  stayed  your  coming  a  few  hours, 
but  you  discovered  yourself  before  he  had 
left  his  citadel.' 

"  'So,'  replied  the  General;  'why  did  you 
not  persuade  the  Abbot  to  allow  you  to  carry 
them  to  Mademoiselle  and  make  her  his 
carrier  pigeon  ? ' 

"  'He  would  not  trust  me,'  Gaucelim  re- 
plied; 'but  he  trusts  her.  You  must  hatch 
your  own  plot  to  make  him  confide  the  let- 
ters to  her  and  then  squeeze  them  from  her. 
I  give  you  the  clue,  it  is  surely  worth 
something.' 

"  '  It  is  worth  a  hundred  crowns  to  you  if  it 
amounts  to  anything,'   the  General  replied, 


The  Golden  Mystery  21 

musingly.  *  You  say  that  Coligny  trusts*  you 
not,  but  trusts  Mademoiselle.  She  doubtless 
knows  that  you  were  once  in  the  employ  of 
her  lover.  You  have  delivered  letters  to  her 
ere  this.  Could  you  not  persuade  her  that  you 
come  from  him  now,  and  bear  back  a  letter 
in  her  hand  which  would  make  even  him  trust 
you  with  the  packet  from  La  Rochelle  ? ' 

"  'I  might  get  a  missive  from  her/  said 
Gaucelim,  'but  I  like  not  the  idea  of  facing 
the  Abbot  again.  Nevertheless  I  will  try, 
for  the  Abbot  is  confiding  and  forgiving,  and 
his  love  for  her  makes  him  blind.  Also  I 
would  like  those  hundred  crowns.  Let  me 
think  out  a  plan,  for  there  are  more  ways 
than  one  to  skin  a  cat.  Meantime  to  our 
other  business.  The  monks  of  Clairvaux 
have  sent  a  train  of  provisions  to  Vezelay, 
great  tuns  of  wine  from  their  vineyards  of 
Chablis,  and  waggonloads  of  barley  and  wheat 
from  their  granges.  The  train  will  halt  to- 
day in  the  forest  of  Aigremont  awaiting  in- 
formation from  me  as  to  the  best  means  of 
getting  into  the  Abbey.  I  am  supposed  to 
be  now  in  conference  with  Abbot  Odet  and 
am  to  return  to  them  at  midnight  and  con- 
voy the  train  to  that  gate  of  the  monastery 
least  under  your  surveillance.     You  have  but 


22  French  Abbeys 

to  tell  me  which  route  to  take,  and  where 
your  men  would  prefer  to  fall  upon  them  to 
capture  the  entire  train.' 

"  'Good,'  said  Sansac;  'but  will  the  monks 
fight?' 

"  'Not  a  monk  ventures  from  his  monkery; 
the  carters  are  but  stupid  peasants  who  know 
not  whither  they  are  bound.  They  will  run 
like  deer  at  the  first  sound  of  firing.' 

'"A  master-stroke,'  chuckled  Sansac; 
'bring  them  by  the  Col  de  la  Croix  de  Mont 
Joie.  The  gorge  is  narrow — we  will  take  the 
carts  one  by  one  as  they  cross  the  bridge. 
We  will  let  the  yokels  escape,  if  they  make  no 
resistance.  I  will  myself  be  in  the  old  tower 
to  broach  the  first  cask  of  Chablis.  You  are 
a  rare  forage-master,  and  shall  be  rewarded 
for  this,  Gaucelim.  We  will  send  the  Abbot 
a  bottle  as  a  sample  of  what  he  has  lost.  Get 
to  bed  now  in  the  loft  over  the  stables,  for 
your  eyes  are  heavy,  and  you  have  more 
owl's  work  for  this  night.  Take  the  white 
horse  in  the  stall  at  the  left  of  the  stable  when 
you  set  out,  for  he  is  the  best  of  the  stud. 
The  password  to-night  everywhere  is  "The 
King's  business."  We  shall  have  a  merry 
meeting  when  you  return,  but  drink  not  till 
I  give  you  leave — it  is  your  weakness,  my  lad. 


The  Golden  Mystery  23 

I  will  send  you  a  stirrup-cup  when  you  start. 
See  you  take  no  other.' 

"Elizabeth  tiptoed  from  her  hiding-place, 
thinking  hard  and  fast.  Would  no  good 
angel  inspire  her  with  some  scheme  to  out- 
wit this  knavery?  Suddenly  she  saw  her 
opportunity,  and  she  hurried  to  the  still- 
room  of  the  chateau  where  she  had  often  as- 
sisted her  hostess  in  the  preparation  of 
medicaments  for  the  poor  of  the  neighbour- 
hood. She  took  a  flask  of  the  strongest 
liqueur  of  the  good  monks  of  La  Grande  Char- 
treuse, poured  out  a  glass,  and  refilled  the 
flask  from  another  bottle  labelled  'Syrup  of 
Poppies,  For  the  Solacing  of  those  Sleepless 
through  great  Pain/ 

"Calling  a  page,  she  bade  him  take  the 
drugged  liqueur  to  a  young  man  whom  he 
would  find  in  the  stable-loft. 

"  'Tell  him,'  she  said,  'that  General  Sansac 
sends  it  to  him  for  it  has  power  to  quicken 
the  wits,  and  will  warm  his  heart  for  the 
adventure  which  he  has  before  him.' 

"She  could  do  nothing  further  until  night- 
fall, when  she  lighted  the  lamp  in  the  Ian- 
terne  des  morts  for  the  last  time.  'Heaven 
send,'  she  prayed,  'that  Odet  sees  my  signal.* 
He  saw  it  instantly.     Famished  and  despair- 


24  French  Abbeys 

ing,  he  had  been  pacing  his  terrace  when  the 
calcium  ray  shot  its  white  finger  across  the 
sky. 

"  'Make  a  sortie  at  three  this  night,'  the 
moving  finger  wrote,  'on  the  Nevers  side  of 
the  Abbey.' 

"Odet  de  Coligny  hastily  lighted  his  own 
beacon. 

"  *  I  will  be  on  the  road  with  the  best  force 
I  can  muster ;  but  what  is  on  hand  ? ' 

1 '  Again  the  beam  darted  its  welcome  news : 

"  'Your  brethren  of  Clairvaux  will  send 
you  supplies  from  that  direction.  There  is 
only  a  feeble  guard  to  the  west  of  Vezelay; 
do  not  let  them  cut  off  your  succour.' 

' '  There  was  little  time  for  dalliance  in  con- 
versation with  her  beloved,  but  she  told  him 
how  she  had  learned  this  good  news  through 
Gaucelim's  treachery,  and  warned  him  to 
beware  of  him  on  all  occasions.  Then,  bid- 
ding her  husband  a  hasty  farewell,  she 
shaded  the  taper  with  her  fingers  and  climbed 
to  the  stable  loft  where  she  counted  on  find- 
ing  Gaucelim  overcome  by  the  sleeping  potion 
and  where  she  had  intended  to  don  his  cloth- 
ing and  so  take  the  road  and  lead  the  pro- 
vision train  to  Vezelay. 

"What  was  her  consternation  to  find  the 


The  Golden  Mystery  25 

loft  vacant,  as  well  as  the  stall  which  should 
have  contained  the  white  horse.  Gaucelim 
had  supposed  that  the  General  had  antici- 
pated the  time  set  for  his  start  and  he  had 
already  started  upon  his  errand.  Had  he 
suspected  then  that  the  liqueur  was  drugged  ? 
But  no,  the  empty  flask  lay  by  the  door  of  the 
stable.  He  had  drunk  every  drop  as  he  set 
foot  in  stirrup. 

"  'It  will  work  its  power  upon  him/  she 
thought,  'as  he  rides.  He  will  be  maudlin 
when  he  reaches  the  train;  in  no  condition 
to  give  his  message.  I  can  still  circumvent 
him/ 

"She  looked  about  her  eagerly:  a  great 
riding-coat,  boots,  and  hat  belonging  to  one 
of  the  couriers  hung  in  the  harness  room,  and 
she  donned  them,  hiding  her  petticoats  in  the 
hay.  Then  she  led  her  own  mare  from  its 
stall,  and  as  she  did  so  a  sleepy  groom  stumbled 
in  and  demanded  what  she  was  about. 

"  'The  King's  business/  she  replied,  for- 
tunately remembering  the  pass-word. 

"  'The  Devil's  rather/  the  groom  grumbled, 
but  he  put  a  man's  saddle  on  the  mare  and 
fitted  her  heels  with  spurs,  for  a  servant  came 
from  the  chateau  with  a  flagon  of  spiced  wine, 
and  presenting  it  to  Elizabeth,  said: 


26  French  Abbeys 

"  'The  General  sends  you  this  stirrup-cup, 
as  he  promised,  and  bids  you  hasten.' 

"She  made  as  if  she  drank  a  portion  and 
handed  the  cup  to  the  groom  while  the 
General's  servant  accompanied  her  to  the 
drawbridge  and  wished  her  a  lucky  adventure 
as  she  rode  cautiously  down  the  steep  incline. 
The  castle  clock  boomed  ten  when  she  struck 
the  level  road  and  gave  the  mare  her  head. 
She  had  two  hours  to  make  the  fifteen  kilo- 
metres to  reach  the  provision  train  at  the 
time  that  Gaucelim  had  promised  that  he 
would  return,  and  it  was  important  that  she 
should  reach  it  first.  It  was  the  first  time 
that  she  had  sat  a  horse  in  six  months,  and 
she  was  riding  now  cross-saddle  in  a  manner 
to  which  she  was  not  accustomed,  but  she 
braced  her  feet  in  the  stirrups  and  the  reali- 
sation that  she  was  outside  her  prison  walls, 
free,  free!  was  like  wine  to  her  spirits.  She 
did  not  ride,  she  fairly  flew.  There  was  no 
moon,  but  it  was  a  clear  star-lit  night,  and  the 
road  stretched  white  before  her.  A  sentry 
barred  her  passage  as  she  rode  through  a 
village,  but  at  the  words,  'The  King's  busi- 
ness,' he  lowered  his  piece,  with  the  question, 
'How  many  of  you  are  abroad  to-night?' 

"  'I  am  the  last,'   said  Elizabeth;    'hold 


The  Golden  Mystery  27 

any  one  who  follows  me  till  you  are  certain 
of  his  credentials,  for  there  be  spies  about. 
How  long  ago  was  it  that  my  comrade  went 
by?' 

"  'If  you  mean  a  drunken  fellow  on  a 
white  horse,  nigh  half  an  hour — but  the  King 
would  best  not  send  many  such  messengers, 
for  the  sot  could  hardly  hiccough  the  pass- 
word, and  were  it  not  that  his  horse  carried 
him  gingerly,  he  could  not  have  kept  his 
seat.' 

"He  had  done  better  than  she  had  hoped 
in  keeping  it  thus  far,  but  Gaucelim  had 
learned  to  sleep  in  the  saddle,  and  had  taken 
many  a  long  ride  in  a  tipsy  condition. 

"Elizabeth  began  to  fear  that  she  would 
not  overtake  him,  and  if  he  reached  the 
rendezvous  in  the  wood  of  Aigremont  before 
her  the  carters  would  not  believe  any  word 
of  hers  to  his  discredit,  for  she  was  a  stranger, 
and  the  monks  of  Clairvaux  had  placed  the 
train  in  his  care.  Suddenly  her  mare  shied 
at  a  huddled  heap  in  the  road  and  nearly  threw 
her.  She  leapt  from  her  saddle.  It  was 
Gaucelim,  lying  stupefied,  but  otherwise  un- 
hurt. While  she  dragged  him  behind  the 
hedge,  the  white  horse  whinnied  and  trotted 
up   to   her.     He   had   had   a   rest   of   some 


28  French  Abbeys 

twenty  minutes  and  had  not  been  ridden  so 
hard  as  her  own,  and  Elizabeth  turned  her 
exhausted  mare  into  the  neighbouring  field — 
glad  of  a  comparatively  fresh  steed.  Then 
she  divested  Gaucelim  of  his  doublet  and 
hose — it  was  an  old  livery  worn  while  his 
master  was  Cardinal — and  she  kissed  the 
scarlet  hat  embroidered  on  the  breast,  and 
clothed  herself  with  care,  for  at  daylight  the 
exigencies  of  her  present  costume  would  be 
apparent. 

"She  made  a  pretty  page,  but  her  hair  was 
long  and  she  hacked  at  it  savagely  with 
Gaucelim's  rapier.  Hastily  mounting,  she 
struck  out  again  much  cheered  by  this  piece 
of  good  luck.  A  lamp  shone  from  the  ter- 
race of  Vezelay.  Her  husband  was  sending 
her  a  message,  but  from  this  different  point  of 
view  she  could  not  read  it.  She  was  cheered, 
however,  by  the  knowledge  that  he  was  think- 
ing of  her.  'By  dawn  I  shall  be  with  you, 
my  own  darling,'  she  laughed  and  threw  him 
a  kiss  as  she  rode,  thinking  gleefully  of  his 
surprise  and  delight.  How  many  times  in 
the  old  days  before  he  had  broken  with  Rome 
she  had  asked  him  to  let  her  visit  Vezelay, 
but  he  had  been  obdurate.  No  woman's 
foot  must  enter  the  monastery,  and  Protestant 


The  Golden  Mystery  29 

though  he  was  even  then  at  heart,  he  would 
not  break  down  the  discipline  of  the  rule  of 
St.  Benoit,  or  have  it  said  that  he  had  violated 
the  sanctuary  and  corrupted  his  monks  by 
his  example.  Now  she  was  coming  in  spite 
of  his  prohibition,  and  they  would  never, 
never  be  separated  more. 

4 'She  reached  the  forest  of  Aigremont  at 
the  time  appointed,  just  as  the  carters  were 
breaking  camp. 

"  'You  are  to  divide  the  convoy,'  she  ex- 
plained. 'The  wine  is  to  make  a  long  circuit 
by  the  way  of  Mont  Joie,  but  all  the  grain  by 
the  direct  route  through  Asquins.' 

"There  was  ruse  in  the  order.  The  great 
tuns  of  Chablis  would  arrive  at  the  am- 
buscade as  expected  and  convince  de  Sansac 
that  his  plan  had  succeeded,  and  that  the 
rest  of  the  train  was  simply  delayed  and 
would  soon  follow.  While  he  and  his  men 
were  carousing  she  would  get  the  grain  into 
Vezelay  on  the  other  side  of  the  promontory. 

"This  was  in  fact  what  occurred,  but  as  the 
train  of  provisions  approached  Vezelay  in  the 
grey  of  early  morning,  Elizabeth  saw  a  fierce 
combat  in  progress  between  the  monks  who 
had  issued  from  the  monastery  and  the 
videttes   stationed   at   an   outpost   to    guard 


30  French  Abbeys 

against  such  a  sortie.  The  carters  were 
braver  than  Gaucelim  had  reported  them, 
and  hastily  unharnessing  and  mounting  their 
heavy  draught  horses  the  score  of  men  came 
lumbering  across  the  plain,  plumping  into  the 
melee  and  attacking  the  soldiers  in  the  flank 
with  the  only  weapons  which  they  carried, 
their  murderous  whips.  The  long  snake-like 
thongs  circled  and  cracked  with  reports  like 
those  of  firearms  and  horse  and  man  gave 
way,  borne  down  by  the  impact  of  the  charge. 
"Odet  de  Coligny  had  led  his  men  with 
such  recklessness  that  he  had  burst  through 
the  enemy's  line  and  reining  in  Humilite 
was  circling  back  to  his  monks,  when  the 
carters  made  their  onset.  There  was  no  sign 
of  the  provision  train  and  in  the  obscurity 
of  the  dawn  and  the  confusion  of  the  hand- 
to-hand  encounter  he  took  them  for  a  rein- 
forcement of  the  enemy,  and  when  Elizabeth 
rode  recklessly  toward  him  waving  her  light 
rapier  and  shouting  '  Au  secours/'  he  did  not 
recognise  her.  As  she  came  near,  her  mantle 
streamed  backward  and  he  recognised  Gau- 
celim's  livery,  with  his  own  Cardinal's  hat 
embroidered  in  red  on  the  tabard  of  the 
tunic,  and  his  hasty  thought  was  that  the 
traitor  had  trapped  him. 


The  Golden  Mystery  31 

"He  rose  in  his  stirrups  and  hurled  his 
mace  with  all  his  force — and  Elizabeth  fell 
headlong  at  his  feet. 

"A  moment  later  the  enemy  had  vanished 
as  though  blown  away  by  a  whirlwind,  and 
as  the  carters  reharnessed  their  horses  and 
brought  up  the  provision  train,  the  Abbot 
saw  that  he  had  mistaken  the  intentions  of 
the  youth  who  had  ridden  so  madly  toward 
him,  and  crying  'Gaucelim,  my  poor*  boy, 
forgive  me,'  knelt  beside  him. 

"Then  with  a  more  intensely  bitter  cry, 
'My  God,  my  God,  what  have  I  done?'  he 
lifted  the  slight  form  in  his  arms  and  rode 
back  to  the  Abbey. 

"It  was  like  their  tender-hearted  Abbot, 
the  monks  said  to  one  another,  that  he 
should  feel  this  deep  remorse  for  the  death 
of  this  lad  at  his  hand  by  sad  misapprehen- 
sion of  his  motives.  But  when  the  brother- 
hood were  summoned  to  the  Abbey  church 
to  take  part  in  the  requiem  mass  they  were 
transfixed  with  wonder  to  see  lying  upon  the 
bier  before  the  high  altar  a  girlish  form  robed 
in  the  chiefest  treasure  of  their  sacristy,  the 
dress  of  cloth  of  gold,  given  to  the  Abbey  by 
Queen  Eleanor.  The  light  of  the  tall  candles 
that  flanked  the  bier  fell  upon  their  Abbot 


32  French  Abbeys 

kneeling  by  its  side,  while  the  chaplain  who 
intoned  the  service  bade  them  pray  for  the 
soul  of  the  noble  lady  Elizabeth  de  Hauteville 
de  Coligny,  Countess  of  Beauvais,  true  and 
honourable  wife  of  the  most  unhappy  Odet  de 
Coligny  de  Chatillon,  sometime  Abbot  of 
Vezelay." 

"Quatrevaux,"  we  said,  "your  story  does 
credit  to  your  inventive  powers,  but  un- 
fortunately for  its  credibility  it  is  a  known 
fact  that  Elizabeth  outlived  her  husband, 
who  was  poisoned  in  England  by  his  valet  in 
1 57 1.  It  is  therefore  manifestly  impossible 
that  Odet  de  Coligny  could  have  slain  her  in 
this  melodramatic  way." 

"Madame  is  perfectly  right  as  to  her 
facts,"  Quatrevaux  replied,  with  imperturb- 
ability, "but  Madame  picks  me  up  a  little  too 
hastily.  I  never  said  that  the  Abbot  killed 
his  wife,  or  gave  the  date  of  her  death.  God 
was  better  to  Odet  de  Coligny  than  he  feared, 
for  his  mace  had  not  touched  Elizabeth,  but 
had  struck  her  horse  between  the  eyes,  and 
she  had  been  simply  stunned  by  her  fall. 
As  the  Abbot  carried  her  on  his  saddle-bow 
back  to  Vezelay  he  felt  the  pulsing  of  her 
heart  against  his  own,  and  the  convulsive 
drawing  of  her  breath  as  she  regained  con- 


The  Golden  Mystery  33 

sciousness,  and  he  strained  her  the  more 
closely  to  his  breast. 

"Calling  the  brotherhood  together  in  the 
Chapter  House  he  presented  his  wife  to  them 
and  told  them  all  the  truth.  They  cheered 
her  until  the  vaulted  roof  rang  again,  as  well 
they  might,  for  the  provisions  which  she  had 
brought  in  saved  them  all  from  famine  and 
enabled  the  Abbey  to  hold  out  until  Sansac, 
despairing  of  reducing  it,  drew  off  his  army 
after  an  ineffectual  siege  of  eight  months, 
having  in  that  time  fired — all  to  no  purpose — 
upwards  of  three  thousand  volleys  from  his 
great  siege  guns  and  lost  fifteen  hundred  of 
the  King's  soldiers. 

"Elizabeth  accompanied  her  husband  to 
England,  where,  thanks  in  great  part  to 
the  interest  which  Queen  Elizabeth  took  in 
her,  Odet  de  Coligny  prospered  in  his  em- 
bassy. The  Queen  gave  him  cannon,  muni- 
tions of  war,  and  a  hundred  thousand  angelots 
for  the  French  Protestants.  She  was  listen- 
ing favourably,  too,  to  the  proposals  of  Henri 
of  Navarre  when  Catherine  de'  Medici  put 
the  bloodhound  Gaucelim  upon  the  Abbot's 
track,  who  poisoned  him  precisely  as  Madame 
lias  related. 

"Elizabeth   de   Coligny   returned   to  Mont 


34  French  Abbeys 

Joie.  She  tended  the  lanterne  des  morts  with 
ceaseless  solicitude,  and  believed  that  her 
husband  answered  herwith  star-signals.  When 
she  died,  an  aged  woman,  the  monks  of 
Vezelay  claimed  her  body,  and  wrapping  it 
in  the  Golden  Mystery  laid  it  in  their  richest 
tomb,  as  a  fitting  acknowledgment  to  one 
who  had  done  so  much  for  them." 

"Quatrevaux,  Quatrevaux,"  we  remon- 
strated, "you  are  a  sad  rogue,  though  a 
clever  one.  I  fear  you  forget  that  horrible 
fracture  in  the  forehead  of  the  skeleton.  If 
not  made  by  the  Abbot's  mace,  how  do  you 
account  for  that,  my  friend  ?" 

Our  guide's  lips  curled  contemptuously. 

"Madame  is  very  curious  about  unim- 
portant details.  I  have  already  explained 
that  the  lid  of  the  sarcophagus  was  very 
heavy.  It  slipped  from  my  father's  hand  as 
he  was  removing  it,  and,  much  to  his  regret, 
the  skull  of  the  then  unknown  woman  was 
crushed.  Madame  must  not  impute  to  me 
any  intention  of  deceit.  It  is  the  exuberance 
of  Madame's  own  imagination,  and  no  lie  of 
mine,  which  has  suggested  that  Elizabeth 
de  Hauteville  de  Coligny  died  any  other  than 
a  peaceful,  natural  death." 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  MASTERPIECE  OF  FRERE  PLACIDE 

"  N  TOW  what  can  Frere  Placide  want  of 
*  1  the  Abbot,  I  wonder,"  grumbled  Frere 
Elbertus  to  the  pretty  lace-maker,  Margot, 
as  they  stood  a  little  apart  from  the  throng 
waiting  in  the  garden  for  audience  with  the 
Abbot  of  Cluny. 

"Very  much  what  you  and  I  want,  I 
fancy,"  replied  Margot;  "some  favour  of 
Monseigneur." 

"But  what  can  it  be?"  persisted  the  cus- 
todian of  the  scriptorium.  ' '  You  have  brought 
some  of  your  beautiful  lace  for  the  border  of 
an  alb.  I  crave  his  attention  to  work  of  my 
illuminators;  but  a  blacksmith!  gr-r!  Is  a 
prince  of  the  Church  like  Dominique  de  la 
Rochefoucauld  likely  to  be  interested  in 
kitchen  fire-irons?     It  makes  me  ill  to  see  an 

35 


36  French  Abbeys 

ignorant  pounder  of  metal  give  himself  such 
airs.  Figure  to  yourself,  Margot,  I  have 
twice  warned  him  from  the  scriptorium. 
What  business  has  he  who  cannot  read  the 
learned  tongues  with  our  precious  manu- 
scripts? And  yet  there  he  was,  studying  the 
ivy-bordered  pages  of  the  precious  missal 
which  the  Due  de  Berry  presented  to  the 
Abbey.  And  what  do  you  imagine  the  rascal 
did  last  week  when  I  refused  him  quill  and 
inkhorn  to  trace  the  strap-work  ornament 
on  the  copy  of  the  Koran  which  a  Saracen  of 
Toledo  transcribed  for  Peter  the  Venerable? 
Why  the  drole  brought  a  ball  of  stout  twine 
and  braided  the  pattern  in  the  same  intricate 
fashion.  Imbecile!  How  is  it  possible  that 
a  sane  man  should  amuse  himself  twiddling 
strings  ?" 

''That  is  what  I  used  to  ask  myself,"  re- 
plied Margot.  "He  often  comes  to  our 
house  to  watch  me  at  my  lace-making  and  to 
turn  over  my  patterns.  At  first  I  thought 
it  was  for  old  acquaintance  sake,  for  we 
played  together  as  children.  Not  at  all,  for 
at  last  he  brings  with  him  a  bit  of  pine 
board  and  a  stick  of  charcoal,  and  makes 
free  to  draw  off  the  very  passion  flowers 
which  I  have  worked  in  this  lace,  and  then 


The  Masterpiece  of  Fr£re  Placide    37 

the  secret  was  out.  He  was  after  designs  for 
his  metal-work,  and  't  is  marvellous  how  he 
can  tease  and  twist  the  iron  into  coiling 
tendrils  and  beat  it  into  crumpled  petals. 
Have  you  not  marked  the  scroll-work  in  the 
bracket -sign  which  hangs  before  the  lock- 
smith's booth  in  the  marche?  He  is  no 
ordinary  farrier.  Placid  waters  run  deep, 
they  say,  and  Frere  Placide  deserves  his 
name." 

1 '  Placid  indeed ! — stagnant  rather, ' '  retorted 
Frere  Elbertus;  "he  has  not  even  the  spirit 
to  resent  injuries.  Will  nothing  ever  make 
him  angry?  Look  at  him  now.  That  bully 
Odo  has  twice  hurtled  against  him,  and  he 
stands  unresentfully  staring  up  at  the  clock- 
tower,  as  though  it  took  more  than  a  glance 
to  note  the  time.  Staring,  and  smiling,  is 
he  waiting  like  a  baby  to  see  the  figures  come 
out,  think  you?" 

It  was  precisely  what  Fr&re  Placide  was 
doing.  He  loved  at  all  times  to  watch  the 
great  mechanical  clock,  for,  at  the  time  of 
striking,  two  bronze  blacksmiths  issued  from 
doors  on  either  side  and  beat  the  hours,  with 
alternate  strokes,  upon  an  anvil  gong.  It 
seemed  to  the  simple  artisan-monk  no  mean 
tribute  to  his  craft  that  the  artificer  of  the 


38  French  Abbeys 

clock  should  have  chosen  brawny  smiths  for 
his  statues  and  have  set  them  up  on  high, 
at  the  entrance  of  the  Abbey  church,  for  all 
to  admire.  In  his  pleasure  in  watching  them 
bend  to  their  task  he  did  not  forget  that  they 
were  striking  the  hour  of  the  Abbot's  audi- 
ence. Margot  was  right  when  she  said  that 
still  waters  may  run  deep.  The  name  of 
Placidus  had  not  come  by  chance,  but  had 
been  bestowed  on  him  during  his  novitiate 
by  common  accord  of  the  brotherhood  as  to 
its  fitness.  Gentle  by  nature,  his  clear  eyes, 
blue  as  some  unruffled  lake,  allowed  you  to 
look  into  the  depths  of  his  tranquil  soul,  un- 
perturbed by  any  passion  except  the  passion 
for  his  art.  No  one  could  have  suspected 
that  the  interview  which  he  was  awaiting 
without  visible  impatience  or  excitement 
marked  a  crisis  in  his  life,  that  admiration 
and  love  of  the  Abbey  had  taken  the  place 
in  his  heart  of  the  love  of  woman,  and  the 
ambition  of  the  artist  swelled  his  soul  to 
leave  it  a  masterpiece  which  would  render 
it  for  ever  glorious. 

For  this  he  had  toiled  for  years,  but  lack 
of  time  deferred  the  realisation  of  his  hope. 
There  was  always  some  staircase  ramp  or 
balcony,  or  work  of  less  importance,  to  be 


The  Masterpiece  of  Fr6re  Placide    39 

executed.  In  hours  snatched  from  sleep  he 
had  thought,  and  sleeping  dreamed,  until 
the  design  of  a  noble  grille  took  shape  in  his 
mind.  He  knew  the  very  place  for  it.  The 
choir  was  closed  in  by  a  double  jube,  or 
rood-screen,  of  antiquated  and  coarse  work- 
manship. He  would  substitute  intricate 
metal-work  which  would  lend  the  sparkling 
lights  and  rich  adornment  of  the  high  altar 
the  fascination  of  mystery. 

Such  a  task  would  demand  the  labour  of 
years,  and  Frere  Placide  had  seen  the  sands 
of  his  life  slipping  away,  day  by  day  wasted 
upon  trifling  objects. 

He  had  been  faithful  and  uncomplaining, 
outwardly  as  calm  as  ever,  but  his  patience 
hid  a  haunting  fear  that  possibly  he  might 
not  be  permitted  this  dearest  desire  of  his 
heart. 

If  only  the  Abbot  would  come  to  Cluny 
and  take  other  interest  in  his  Abbey  than  in 
drawing  its  revenues.  And  at  last  Domin- 
ique de  la  Rochefoucauld,  Abbe  Commenda- 
taire,  had  visited  his  benefice,  and  Frere 
Placide  had  plucked  up  courage  to  ask  an 
audience  with  the  great  man  to  explain  to 
him  his  cherished  scheme. 

What  manner  of  man  was  this   courtier 


40  French  Abbeys 

Abbot?  he  wondered.  One  branch  of  the 
de  la  Rochefoucaulds  had  been  Huguenots 
during  the  religious  wars.  They  were  all 
brilliant  men  as  well  as  great  nobles.  But 
this  was  no  sufferer  for  conscience'  sake.  All 
the  better  for  the  hopes  of  Frere  Placide — he 
was  less  likely  to  be  a  contemner  of  luxury 
and  beauty.  Would  he  prove  a  patron  of 
art,  like  Jean  de  Bourbon?  More  likely  he 
cared  only  for  his  own  indulgences  and  ag- 
grandisement, and  the  timid  monk  almost 
regretted  his  hardihood  when  the  porter  bade 
him  enter  the  audience  chamber. 

The  Abbot's  face  was  kindly  and  Frere 
Placide  poured  forth  his  aspirations  as  he 
laid  his  drawings  before  him. 

Dominique  de  la  Rochefoucauld  did  not 
immediately  examine  them,  he  studied  in- 
stead the  face  of  the  enthusiast,  and  a  great 
pity  showed  itself  in  his  own. 

''My  son,"  he  said,  "this  is  a  most  am- 
bitious desire  on  your  part.  To  realise  it 
you  should  have  not  only  genius  but  educa- 
tion. By  what  master  have  you  been 
taught?  Have  you  travelled  and  seen  the 
masterpieces  already  created?  You  know, 
I  presume,  that  exquisite  work  in  iron  is  now 
being  produced.     The  Abbot  of  Saint  Ouen 


The  Masterpiece  of  Frere  Placide    41 

at  Rouen  has  just  erected  a  grille  of  such 
beauty  in  his  abbey  church  that  the  King 
himself  envies  its  possession.  You  have  not 
seen  it  of  course,  but  Sens  is  nearer,  and  the 
Archbishop  boasts  that  his  gates  are  finer 
than  those  of  Saint  Ouen.  Then,  last  of  all, 
there  is  the  ironwork  of  Jean  Lamour  at 
Nancy.     Can  you  rival  that?" 

Frere  Placide  spread  his  hands  deprecat- 
ingly:  "I  have  never  been  taught.  I  have 
never  been  away  from  Cluny." 

"My  poor  fellow!  What,  then,  can  you 
hope  to  do?" 

"Nothing,  Monseigneur,"  and  Frere  Pla- 
cide patiently  extended  his  hand  for  his 
drawings. 

"Wait  a  moment,  I  will  at  least  look  at 
them,"  and  the  Abbot  bent  over  the  papers. 

Frere  Placide  could  not  see  the  scorn  which 
he  felt  in  the  ominous  silence,  and  his  own 
abashed  gaze  was  fixed  upon  the  pavement 
when  de  la  Rochefoucauld  finished  his  scrutiny 
of  the  designs. 

"It  is  as  I  supposed,"  the  Abbot  said  at 
length;  "the  plans  betray  your  lack  of 
teaching.  Why,  the  veriest  tyro  among 
Parisian  apprentices  could  present  a  more 
showy  set  of  drawings.     You  must  give  up 


42  French  Abbeys 

this  work  tinder  the  Prieur  Claustral,  the 
making  of  locks  and  hinges  for  the  new 
cloisters,  and  go  back " 

The  Abbot  paused,  for  he  noticed  that 
Frere  Placide,  though  calm  as  ever,  had 
turned  white. 

"Man,"  he  exclaimed,  "you  misunder- 
stand me.  There  is  no  occasion  for  such 
despair.  I  said  that  without  genius  and 
education  you  could  do  nothing,  but  lack 
of  education  can  be  supplied,  and,  my  son, 
you  have  what  never  can  be  acquired — true 
genius — and  you  shall  forge  your  gates,  only 
first  you  must  see  what  your  rivals  are  doing 
and  you  must  go  back — not  to  your  booth 
in  the  market — but  with  me  to  Paris.  You 
shall  live  with  me  there  at  our  town  house 
which  Jacques  d'Amboise  built  for  the  Abbots 
of  Cluny.  There  is  some  very  pretty  work 
in  that  little  palace,  and  you  shall  study  and 
surpass  the  best  that  France  has  to  show. 
Sit  down,  if  your  trembling  legs  will  not  sus- 
tain you,  and  my  cellarer  will  bring  you  a 
cup  of  wine.  Two  glasses,  Francois,  and  we 
will  drink  to  the  new  grille.  I  shall  invite 
the  Abbot  of  St.  Ouen  to  visit  me  when  it  is 
finished,  as  he  did  me,  to  show  me  Nicolas 
Flambart's  screen,  and  shall  have  the  laugh 


■ 

<  « 

g    o 

>  § 
3| 

°      U 

u.  o, 
O  >, 
O    « 


The  Masterpiece  of  Frere  Placide    43 

on  him,  too,  for  you  have  twice  Flambart's 
genius." 

De  la  Rochefoucauld  bettered  his  promises, 
and  Frere  Placide  proved  that  he  merited  his 
Abbot's  confidence.  For  twenty  years  he 
laboured  upon  his  screen,  twenty  years  of 
enthusiastic  toil,  mingled  with  the  privileges 
of  travel  and  study.  At  last,  in  1785,  his 
masterpiece  was  completed. 

It  was  a  great  day  for  Cluny  when,  the 
last  rivet  having  been  set,  the  grille  was  un- 
veiled by  the  Abbot  in  the  presence  of  a  vast 
concourse.  The  Abbey  choir  chanted  the 
Magnificat,  and  as  Frere  Placide  listened  to 
the  triumphant  paean,  ' '  He  hath  put  down  the 
mighty  from  their  seat,  and  hath  exalted 
them  of  low  degree,"  he  knew  that  he  was 
signified  in  the  ' '  exaltavit  humiles. ' '  But  the 
chant  had  a  double  meaning,  and,  musing  on 
the  "deposuit  potentes,"  the  face  of  the  very 
noble  lord  Abbot,  Dominique  de  la  Roche- 
foucauld, prince  and  peer  of  the  realm,  was 
very  grave,  and  his  heart  like  lead.  As  a 
man  of  the  world  he  knew  the  signs  of  the 
times,  and  foresaw  that  France  would  soon 
fall  on  evil  days.  Perhaps  this  would  be  his 
last  visit  to  the  Abbey — for  he  was  already 
considering  the  possibility  of  flight. 


44  French  Abbeys 

But  Frfere  Placide  knew  nothing  of  the 
storm  which  was  gathering.  He  was  growing 
old  and  would  achieve  no  more  masterpieces ; 
but  he  laboured  industriously  upon  the  orders 
which  the  fame  of  his  artistry  now  brought 
to  Cluny.  It  was  purely  commercial  work 
for  which  he  would  receive  no  renown  and 
not  even  the  poor  guerdon  of  pecuniary 
profit,  for  the  important  sums  received  went 
to  the  Abbey,  and  his  vow  of  poverty  held ; 
but  he  was  content,  for  had  he  not  accom- 
plished his  heart's  desire?  Every  day  he 
visited  his  gates,  and  felt  of  the  delicate 
tracery,  or  gloated  over  it  with  his  eyes, 
and  knew  that  it  was  beautiful. 

But  at  last,  in  the  summer  of  1789,  Cluny 
woke  to  a  realisation  of  what  was  going  on 
in  France.  A  band  of  brigand  sans-culottes 
roving  through  Burgundy  attacked  the  Abbey 
in  the  hope  of  pillage;  but  the  townspeople 
rose  en  masse  and  drove  them  away,  and  ever 
through  the  troubles  which  followed  showed 
themselves  true  to  their  loved  Abbey.  They 
could  not  stand,  however,  before  the  will  of 
the  National  Assembly,  and  two  years  later 
the  monks  were  ejected  from  their  home, 
which  was  declared  the  property  of  the 
nation. 


HI 


GRILLE  OF  ABBEY  CHURCH  OF  SAINT  OUEN,  AT  ROUEN. 


The  Masterpiece  of  Frere  Placide    45 

Even  then  the  anxiety  that  racked  Frere 
Placide  was  not  for  himself.  ''What  will 
become  of  our  glorious  church?"  he  asked. 

1 '  Have  no  fear, ' '  replied  the  intrepid  Mayor 
of  Cluny,  "the  town  will  purchase  it,  for  we 
will  never  allow  so  magnificent  a  monument 
to  perish." 

In  his  trouble  Frere  Placide  was  consoled 
by  the  thought  that  his  work  had  helped 
make  the  church  beautiful,  and  that  this 
beauty  would  melt  the  hearts  of  despoilers 
and  help  to  save  it  from  destruction.  Calmly 
the  aged  man  took  his  old  place  at  the  humble 
locksmith's  booth  under  the  swinging  key  in 
the  town  market,  and  the  townspeople  gave 
him  orders  for  andirons,  cranes,  and  pot- 
hooks for  their  chimneys,  and  brought  him 
misfit  keys  to  file  and  clumsy  utensils  to 
mend,  as  in  his  first  apprenticeship. 

Brother  Elbertus,  custodian  of  the  scrip- 
torium, was  more  unhappy  than  he,  for 
revolutionary  marauders  from  turbulent  Ma- 
con had  made  a  bonfire  on  the  fair-grounds, 
and  had  burned  all  of  the  precious  manu- 
scripts which  he  had  not  been  able  to  conceal, 
together  with  the  wood  carvings  of  the 
church. 

Frkre   Placide    saw   the   iconoclastic   mob 


46  French  Abbeys 

surge  through  the  sacred  edifice,  decorating 
themselves  with  costly  vestments,  rifling  the 
tresor,  and  feeding  the  flames  with  altar 
candles  and  waxen  votive  offerings,  and, 
while  his  heart  ached  for  the  wanton  sacri- 
lege, he  thanked  the  saints  that  he  had 
chosen  to  make  his  masterpiece,  not  of  gold 
or  gems,  which  might  tempt  the  cupidity  of 
thieves,  or  of  perishable  materials  like  the 
illuminations  of  the  scriptorium  and  Margot's 
exquisite  lace,  but  of  enduring  iron. 

"And  not  till  the  earth  itself  shrivels  in 
flames,"  he  thought,  "will  my  iron  again  feel 
the  fire!" 

False  hope  and  futile  comfort.  A  few 
days  before  the  old  man's  eightieth  birthday, 
in  the  winter  of  1794,  a  long  train  of  carts, 
escorted  by  soldiers,  halted  before  the  Abbey 
church.  Margot  came  running  breathless  to 
the  locksmith's  booth  crying,  "Frere  Placide, 
Frere  Placide,  come  quickly;  they  are  taking 
down  the  bells  from  the  docker  to  be  melted 
mto  cannon,  and  have  sent  men  to  your  forge 
for  sledge  hammers  to  break  up  your  gates!" 

For  the  first  time  in  his  life  excitement 
showed  itself  in  the  face  of  the  placid  monk, 
and  he  hastened  to  the  church,  where  a 
crowd  of  townspeople  had  gathered   before 


The  Masterpiece  of  Fr£re  Placide    47 

him.  His  friend,  the  Mayor  of  Cluny,  met 
him  at  the  door.  ''Come  away,  dear  Frere 
Placide,  you  must  not  see  what  they  are 
doing.  I  have  told  them  that  it  is  against 
my  interdict,  but  they  have  authority  higher 
than  mine.  The  nation  requires  all  our  iron 
and  bronze  for  the  manufacture  of  arms. 
See,  the  masons  have  broken  out  the  little 
central  column  in  the  upper  arcade  of  the 
Tour  de  VEau  Benite,  to  allow  the  passage  of 
the  great  alarm-bell,  the  one  that  is  never 
rung  except  in  time  of  danger,  or  tolled  but 
on  the  death  of  an  abbot.  It  is  tolling  now 
as  though  it  knew  our  calamities." 

The  workmen  had  indeed  neglected  to 
muffle  the  tongue  of  the  bell,  and  it  boomed 
ominously  as  it  was  lowered  from  its  place  in 
the  Tower  of  the  Holy  Water.  But  Frere 
Placide' s  quick  ear  caught  other  sinister 
sounds  above  the  hoarse  reverberations  of 
the  bell;  the  blows  of  heavy  hammers  on 
resonant  metal,  and  alas !  the  crash  of  rending 
iron  and  sharp  jangle  of  fragments  falling 
upon  the  marble  floor. 

The  lace-maker  clung  to  him,  but  he  flung 
her  aside  and  dashed  up  the  chancel.  Yes, 
they  had  dared  to  strike  his  heart's  treasure, 
and  were   breaking   out   the   central   panel. 


48  French  Abbeys 

The  emblems  of  the  Saviour's  passion,  the 
three  nails,  the  spear,  and  the  hammer  came 
flying  in  his  face  as  he  ran  forward  to  pro- 
hibit this  sacrilege. 

Instantly  a  great  change  transformed  the 
mild  monk.  None  would  have  said  that  this 
raging  giant  deserved  the  name  of  Placidus. 
He  wrenched  a  sledge  hammer  from  the 
hands  of  a  smith  and  whirled  it  about  his 
head.  Workmen  and  soldiers  fled  from  him, 
and  he  stood  alone  in  the  entrance  to  the 
choir  like  a  madman  at  bay.  The  panic 
lasted  but  for  a  moment.  At  a  safe  distance 
from  his  powerful  arms  the  sergeant  drew  up 
his  squad,  and  a  dozen  gun-barrels  covered 
Frere  Placide. 

"Lay  down  your  weapon  and  leave  the 
building,  or  I  give  the  order  to  fire!"  com- 
manded the  officer. 

But  Frere  Placide  did  not  hear.  Some- 
thing had  snapped  within  his  brain  and  his 
face  turned  purple.  With  his  left  hand  he 
grasped  the  broken  grille  for  support,  his 
eyes  saw  only  blood,  and  the  hammer  sank 
slowly  to  his  side.  He  made  no  attempt  to 
obey  the  order,  and  no  one  dared  approach 
the  motionless  figure  which  stood  so  men- 
acingly on  guard. 


The  Masterpiece  of  Frfere  Placide    49 

"One,  two,  three,  fire!" 

The  order  rang  out  relentlessly,  but  before 
the  quick  volley  obeyed  the  command  Frere 
Placide  fell  forward  before  his  ruined  master- 
piece, untouched  by  the  bullets  that  flew 
over  him,  for  the  man  who  was  never  angry 
in  all  his  life  had  died  from  intensity  of  un- 
accustomed rage. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  WOLF  OF  ST.  FRANCIS 

"  I  've  drunk  sheer  madness!     Not  with  wine, 
But  old  fantastic  tales  miraculous." 

A  LITTLE  aside  from  the  direct  route  as 
one  goes  from  Aries  to  Les  Baux 
through  Mistral's  wonderful  country  stands 
the  ruined  Abbey  of  Montmajour.  Its  beau- 
tiful cloister,  a  gem  of  twelfth-century  art, 
is  brought  into  vivid  contrast  by  a  grim 
donjon  keep,  which  guarded  the  only  ap- 
proach, and  kept  the  artist  monks  safe  from 
all  marauders  while  they  illuminated  the 
manuscripts  which  made  their  abbey  famous. 
There  lies  before  me  a  stray  leaf  of  their 
illumination,  the  gift  of  a  collector,  bordered 
with  floral  arabesques  in  blue,  upon  a  back- 
ground of  what  appears  to  be  the  most  ex- 
quisite niello,  a  style  of  decoration  copied 
from  the  metal  work  of  their  Lombard  neigh- 

50 


The  Wolf  of  St.  Francis  5  1 

bours.  The  graceful  scroll-work  intertwines 
a  grotesque  bestial  figure  with  a  fiend's  body 
and  a  wolf's  head  and  claws.  From  the 
jaws  of  this  creature  are  escaping  delicately- 
painted  butterflies,  the  symbol  of  the  human 
soul. 

Why  this  strange  combination?  I  won- 
dered, and  I  turned  to  the  text  thus  in- 
tricately framed  for  an  explanation  of  the 
caprice  of  the  illuminator. 

It  was  the  beautiful  canticle  of  Saint 
Francis  of  Assisi,  who  visited  Aries  in  the 
latter  years  of  his  life  and  was  the  honoured 
guest  of  the  Abbey  of  Montmajour.  I  re- 
called his  sensitive,  tender  nature,  overflowing 
with  love  for  every  created  being;  how,  when 
interrupted  in  his  preaching  by  the  twittering 
of  swallows,  he  said  to  them: 

"My  little  Sister  Swallows,  keep  silence 
until  I  have  finished  my  discourse,  after 
which  ye  shall  praise  God"  (see  Note  A). 

What  had  this  gentle  saint  to  do  with  fiends 
and  wolves?  The  answer  was  given  me  by 
a  MS.  in  old  French  script,  between  whose 
leaves  the  enriched  page  had  been  found. 
Was  it  genuine  or  a  forgery  ?  The  owner  can- 
not say,  and  as  I  found  it  I  give  it  without 
gloss  or  voucher.     If  the  story  seems  wild 


52  French  Abbeys 

and  impossible,  read  it  after  a  visit  to  the 
Abbey  of  Montmajour  and  the  wind  which 
howls  ceaselessly  through  the  desolate  castle  of 
Les  Baux  may  lend  it  the  vraisemblance  which 
the  writer  has  not  been  able  to  evoke. 

THE  CONFESSION  OF  UGO  DES  BAUX 

I,  Ugo,  Lord  of  Les  Baux  and  of  seventy- 
eight  other  fiefs,  King  of  Aries  and  Vienne, 
make  this  my  humble  confession  to  the  glory 
of  God  and  to  the  ever-blessed  Francis  of 
Assisi.  Which  confession  I  leave  in  the 
hands  of  the  Abbot  of  Montmajour,  to  be 
kept  sealed  as  a  pledge  of  my  repentance,  and 
to  be  made  public  only  in  case  of  my  relapse 
into  mortal  sin,  and  especially  into  the  sins 
of  arrogance,  suspicion,  and  cruelty,  which 
are  the  besetments  of  our  race. 

Imprimis:  be  it  at  the  outset  plainly 
understood  that  in  no  such  wise  have  I 
offended  against  that  pearl  of  all  women, 
Barrale,  daughter  of  the  very  noble  Barral, 
Viscount  of  Marseilles,  and  beyond  all  desert 
on  my  part  my  own  true  wife,  save  in  that 
one  moment  when  the  lightning  of  God 
visited  me  with  swift  and  incredible  chas- 
tisement. 


The  Wolf  of  St  Francis  53 

Nor  was  it  without  great  provocation  that 
my  affection  for  my  friend,  Pierre  Vidal,  was 
turned  into  the  bitterness  of  hatred.  This 
I  say  not  for  my  own  exculpation  but  for 
the  more  perfect  understanding  of  this  my 
confession. 

It  was  at  Marseilles  that  I  first  saw  Vidal. 
He  was  a  hanger-on  at  the  court,  a  writer  of 
love-poems  to  the  Viscountess  Alzais,  mother 
of  the  sweet  Barrale  whom  I  had  come  to 
woo.  The  rogue  was  a  merry  companion, 
one  who  charmed  men  as  well  as  women,  and 
we  were  soon  inseparable.  I  told  him  of  my 
love  for  Barrale,  and  I  know  that  he  envied 
me,  for  his  flaunted  devotion  to  her  mother 
was  but  policy,  since  no  troubadour  can  win 
fame  save  through  the  patronage  of  some 
noble  lady.  And  Vidal  wrote  sonnets  not 
only  for  distinction  but  for  silken  attire  and 
dainty  food,  for  he  was  poor.  These  the 
Viscountess  gave  him  for  a  time,  but  in  the 
end  his  forward  manners  pleased  her  not 
and  she  had  him  banished  from  the  court. 

Somewhiles  after  this  I  found  him  in  sore 
misery  at  Aries,  for  he  had  boasted  of  another 
lady's  favour,  and  her  husband  had  caused 
him  to  be  seized  by  his  men-at-arms  and  with 
his  own  dagger  and  hand  had  slit  his  tongue. 


54  French  Abbeys 

In  pity  for  his  suffering  I  took  him  to  my 
castle  of  Les  Baux,  and  there  my  wife  nursed 
him,  and  I  gave  him  trustingly  of  my  hos- 
pitality and  friendship  until  the  serpent's 
tongue  was  healed  and  could  tempt  and  lie 
as  before. 

It  was  at  Aries,  whither  I  had  gone  with 
my  wife  for  a  few  days'  diversion,  that  I 
learned  how  vilely  he  had  repaid  my  kind- 
ness. A  friend  who  had  lately  returned  from 
Avignon,  where  Vidal  was  carousing,  told 
me  that  he  had  boasted  of  my  wife's  in- 
fatuation and  of  my  stupidity,  and  that  I 
was  the  jest  of  the  town. 

It  galled  me  more  that  he  should  have  tra- 
duced us  in  Avignon  than  if  it  had  chanced 
in  any  other  city  in  the  world,  for  its  inhabit- 
ants are  hereditary  enemies  of  my  family,  and 
I  need  not  to  recall  how  they  took  my  father 
by  treachery,  flayed  him  alive,  and  hung  his 
mutilated  corpse  above  their  gates.  There- 
fore when  my  friend  told  me  of  their  scoffing, 
though  this  villainy  had  been  committed 
when  I  was  a  babe  and  Simon  de  Montfort 
had  abundantly  avenged  it,  and  though  I  had 
promised  holy  church  on  the  cessation  of 
hostilities  to  relinquish  my  right  of  vendetta, 
all  my  hatred  for  the  men  of  Avignon  flamed 


The  Wolf  of  St.  Francis  55 

forth,  and  I  swore  that  I  would  serve  Pierre 
Vidal  as  they  had  served  my  father,  and  send 
his  felon  carcass  to  Avignon  as  a  warning  ' 
that  whoso  laughed  at  the  liar's  jests  should 
have  like  treatment. 

Though  an  old  wound  had  been  opened  in 
the  memory  of  my  father's  murder,  it  must 
be  understood  that  its  smart  was  as  nothing 
to  the  rage  which  devoured  me  when  I 
thought  of  my  unfaithful  friend;  and  all 
possibility  of  taking  pleasure  having  departed 
from  me  I  ordered  my  horses  and  sleigh  to  be 
brought  to  the  door,  my  servants  to  follow 
with  our  luggage  in  another  sledge,  as  I  chose 
to  drive,  and  bade  my  wife  to  prepare  herself 
at  once  to  return  to  our  castle. 

She  was  vexed,  for  we  had  but  just  arrived 
in  Aries,  and  there  was  feasting  and  dancing 
to  which  she  had  looked  forward  with  de- 
light. She  obeyed  me  without  question,  and 
seeing  that  I  was  in  one  of  my  worst  moods 
kept  silence  as  we  sped  homeward.  The 
moon  shone  fitfully  through  scudding  clouds, 
for  a  storm  was  gathering,  and  the  winds 
sweeping  through  the  gorges  drove  the  snow 
before  them  down  the  staircase  of  lesser 
ranges  by  which  the  Alps  step  to  the  sea. 
Our   road    was    flanked    by   precipices    and 


56  French  Abbeys 

furrowed  by  drifts.  Had  I  not  known  every 
turn  around  the  icy  crags,  every  bridge 
across  the  chasms,  where  to  look  for  ava- 
lanches, where  the  bears  made  their  dens, 
and  where  bandits  might  fall  upon  us,  it 
would  have  been  certain  death  to  have  at- 
tempted that  drive  of  twelve  miles  on  such  a 
night.  But  the  fury  within  me  found  a  mad 
delight  in  the  peril  without,  and  I  cursed  my 
horses  as  I  lashed  them  to  their  utmost  speed. 

We  had  passed  the  town  of  Les  Baux  and 
were  crossing  the  desolate  boulder-strewn 
plain  of  La  Crau.  Already  the  windows  of 
my  castle  gleamed  red  above  us,  when  to  the 
dangers  I  have  named  was  added  a  new  terror. 
Skulking  behind  the  rocks  were  wolves,  who 
came  out  into  the  moonlight  after  we  had 
passed  and  watched  us.  The  frightened 
horses  galloped  over  the  uneven  ground,  and 
my  wife  gave  a  cry  as  looking  back  she  saw 
that  the  wolves  were  following.  Three,  four, 
six,  eight — the  pack  grew  in  number  as  they 
gained  upon  us.  Some  evil  spirit  must  have 
entered  into  me,  for  I  taunted  Barrale  with 
her  fear. 

"Are  Pierre  Vidal's  boasts  true  then,"  I 
asked,  "since  you  are  so  afraid  to  die?" 

"What  hath  he  boasted?"  she  cried;   and 


The  Wolf  of  St.  Francis  57 

then  before  I  could  answer — "Naught,  for  he 
hath  naught  to  boast,  and  he  is  a  true  man, 
my  Ugo." 

"Call  me  not  yours,"  I  said,  "for  if  after 
you  hear  how  he  has  made  merry  with  our 
honour  you  still  name  him  true  man  I  will 
throw  you  to  those  wolves,"  and  I  told  her 
what  I  had  heard  and  how  I  had  resolved  upon 
his  death. 

"You  are  mad,"  she  persisted;  "the  man 
who  told  you  this  slander  lied,  for  Pierre  is 
true." 

"True  lover,"  I  thought  was  what  she 
meant,  and  I  caught  her  by  the  arm  shouting, 
"Out  you  go,  to  the  wolves! " 

"So  be  it,"  she  answered,  with  her  set  face 
close  to  mine,  "for  I  would  rather  trust  their 
mercy  than  yours." 

Then  an  astounding  thing  happened.  A 
bolt  of  lightning — for  so  I  deemed  it — fell  from 
the  sky,  and  not  my  wife  but  I  was  flung, 
stunned  and  blinded,  into  the  snow.  Pain- 
fully I  raised  myself,  but  not  to  my  full 
height,  for  paralysis  kept  me  upon  my  knees. 
I  fancied  at  first  that  my  back  had  been 
broken,  but  as  I  dragged  myself  as  best  I 
could  along  the  road  I  discovered  that  the 
injury  was  only  a  strange  cramping  of  the 


58  French  Abbeys 

muscles  of  my  legs  and  that  I  suffered  no 
pain. 

The  sleigh  was  still  in  sight.  My  wife  had 
gained  possession  of  the  reins  and  had  mas- 
tered the  horses.  They  were  floundering 
with  such  difficulty  through  the  drifts  that  I 
soon  overtook  them,  but  at  my  approach  they 
took  new  alarm,  and  when  I  sprang  for  the 
reins  Barrale  lashed  at  me  desperately  with 
the  heavy  whip.  Persisting  in  my  efforts  and 
attempting  to  climb  into  the  sleigh  I  saw 
something  which  frightened  me  more  than 
the  sharp  stiletto  with  which  she  slashed  at 
my  clutching  fingers. 

For  there,  across  her  feet,  with  white,  up- 
turned face,  lay  the  contorted  body  of  a  man. 
My  own  dead  body  I  could  have  sworn,  but 
that  I  felt  myself  keenly  alive  as  I  panted 
after  them. 

Whose  corpse  could  it  be  if  not  mine, 
and  how  did  it  happen  that  the  face  bore 
features  which  I  recognised  as  my  own, 
although  convulsed  by  a  malignant  sneer? 

I  dismissed  the  vision  as  a  trick  of  my  im- 
agination and  bounded  on,  for  I  realised  that 
I  must  gain  my  castle  before  I  should  be 
overtaken  by  the  wolves. 

My  wife  had  but  driven  within  the  court 


The  Wolf  of  St.  Francis  59 

when  I  rang,  but  the  porter  who  opened  at 
my  summons  instantly  let  fall  the  portcullis 
in  his  affright. 

''There  is  a  great  grey  wolf  on  the  draw- 
bridge," I  heard  him  cry,  and  the  word  went 
echoing  through  the  castle,  " Wolf !  wolf!" 

My  great  deer-hound  sprang  from  his  kennel 
the  hackles  bristling  on  his  spine,  while  he 
strained  at  his  chain  and  gave  tongue  sav- 
agely. 

I  looked  about  me — there  was  no  living 
creature  in  front  of  the  castle  save  myself. 
"Down,"  I  shouted;  "Ho!  there,  Hubert, 
haul  up  the  portcullis.     It  is  I,  your  master." 

But  my  voice  sounded  hoarse  and  un- 
familiar even  to  my  own  ears,  a  crossbow 
projected  from  a  meurtriere  and  its  bolt  hur- 
tled by  me.  The  dog  loved  me  well,  why 
had  he  not  recognised  me?  And  why,  good 
marksman  as  Hubert  was,  had  he  missed  me 
at  such  easy  range  ? 

"It  must  be  Barrale  who  set  them  upon 
me,"  I  thought,  and  at  that  instant  a  wicket 
opened  high  in  the  wall  and  I  heard  her 
voice.  "It  is  a  loup-garou"  she  cried,  "and 
only  an  arrow  dipped  in  holy  water  can 
pierce  his  hide.  See,  though  I  hacked  them 
with  my  knife,  his  paws  are  uninjured!" 


60  French  Abbeys 

With  that  I  looked  at  my  hands.  God  help 
me!  they  were  hands  no  longer,  but  a  beast's 
paws  with  ugly  claws  protruding  from  the  fur. 
The  moon  shone  clear,  and  I  could  see  my 
shadow  upon  the  snow.  It  was  plainly  that 
of  a  wolf.  The  lightning-stroke  had  fallen 
not  aimlessly.  I  was  a  man  no  longer,  for  my 
soul  in  its  bestial  rage  had  been  withdrawn 
from  my  human  body  and  given  to  a  beast. 

I  stormed  at  first  against  my  punishment, 
but  as  relentless  nights  and  days  succeeded 
one  another,  I  rebelled  no  more,  and  resigned 
myself  to  my  fate.  I  even  grew  to  take  de- 
light in  being  the  strongest  and  boldest  wolf 
in  the  pack.  Hunting  had  been  my  passion, 
and  I  now  indulged  it  to  the  full.  The  other 
wolves  followed  me  as  their  leader,  and  no 
deer  were  too  swift  or  sheep  dogs  too  savage 
to  be  overcome.  Not  only  the  flocks  and 
herds  suffered,  but  belated  travellers  were 
waylaid  in  the  forest,  and  only  a  few  cleanly 
gnawed  bones  and  bloody  trampled  snow  told 
of  the  tragedy.  It  is  true  that  I  took  no  part 
in  these  attacks.  The  thought  of  devouring 
human  flesh  was  abhorrent  to  me,  and  I  felt 
mortal  enmity  but  for  one  man.  But  I  made 
no  effort  to  restrain  the  wolfish  appetites  of  my 


The  Wolf  of  St.  Francis  61 

retainers,  and  heard  with  a  callous  heart  the 
distant  cries  of  many  an  unfortunate  wretch. 

There  was  in  the  pack  a  white  wolf  called 
"  Lure,"  of  the  cunning  and  ferocity  of  a  fiend, 
for  such  in  truth  he  was.  He  told  me  that  even 
as  a  man  he  had  tempted  me  and  that  he  had 
followed  me  into  this  antechamber  of  hell  of 
his  own  free  will,  and  challenged  me  to  name 
another  who  for  the  sake  of  any  ancient 
friendship  would  have  done  so  much.  My 
wife's  name  sprang  to  my  lips,  but  the 
thought  of  Vidal  kept  me  silent. 

Once  not  even  death  could  have  separated 
us,  for  neither  could  have  lived  without  the 
other,  but  now  she  was  doubtless  rejoicing  in 
her  liberty.  So  I  listened  consentingly  to  the 
subtle  arguments  with  which  Lure  encouraged 
the  one  vestige  of  humanity  which  I  still  re- 
tained,— my  persistent  desire  for  revenge. 

Since  I  was  no  longer  a  man,  he  persuaded 
me,  I  could  not  be  judged  by  a  man's  code  of 
morals,  with  any  more  justice  than  I  could 
be  blamed  that  I  now  coursed  my  game  on 
all  fours  and  ate  my  meat  uncooked. 

God  Himself,  who  had  imposed  upon  me 
the  form  and  nature  of  a  savage  animal,  must 
with  it  have  given  me  warrant  for  acting  ac- 
cording to  brutish  instincts. 


62  French  Abbeys 

If  ever  Pierre  Vidal  fell  into  my  power  I 
might  tear  him  limb  from  limb,  and  who 
could  impeach  the  soul  or  the  memory  of  Ugo 
des  Baux,  who  died  on  that  night  when  my 
spirit  passed  into  the  wolf,  and  whose  career 
up  to  that  time  had  been  one  of  honour? 

I  accepted  his  sophisms  with  avidity,  and 
patrolled  with  my  pack  the  road  to  Aries, 
athirst  to  fasten  my  fangs  on  Vidal's  white 
throat.  It  was  long  before  he  came  to  Les 
Baux,  but  at  length  fate  gave  me  my  oppor- 
tunity. It  was  Lure  who  told  me  that  he 
had  slipped  my  vigilance  and  had  gone  to  my 
castle  mounted  on  a  fine  horse  and  tricked  out 
in  all  the  finery  which  he  so  loved  to  sport. 
With  eagerness  I  lay  in  wait  for  his  return, 
but  the  instant  that  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  his 
face  I  saw  it  so  full  of  mortification  and  anger 
that  I  knew  that  whatever  might  have  been 
the  quest  upon  which  he  came,  it  had  not 
prospered. 

1 '  Curse  her  for  a  jilt ! ' '  he  cried,  as  he  passed 
me,  crouching,  unseen,  "a  jilt,  a  jilt!" 

And  my  heart  leaped  so  tumultuously  as  I 
thought  that  he  had  come  to  woo  my  widow, 
and  that  Barrale  had  sent  him  about  his 
business,  that  I  sprang  in  a  half-hearted 
way,  so  missing  my  aim,  and  fixing  my  teeth 


The  Wolf  of  St.  Francis  63 

in  his  boot  was  beaten  off  with  no  taste  of 
blood  in  my  hot  throat. 

But  though  I  knew  that  Barrale  had  no 
love  for  him,  neither  had  I  pity,  for  my  rage 
grew  that  he  should  have  maligned  her  and 
have  been  the  cause  of  our  quarrel  and  of  my 
humiliation.  Therefore  as,  following  at  a 
distance,  I  saw  him  enter  the  gates  of  the 
Abbey  of  Montmajour,  "Here,"  said  I,  "I 
will  sit  me  down,  nor  will  I  quit  the  spot 
until  I  have  had  my  will." 

Lure  came  to  me  as  I  stood  sentinel,  bring- 
ing to  mind  all  the  delights  that  I  had  lost, 
even  the  beauty  and  sweetness  of  my  dear  lady, 
until  my  heart  was  like  to  burst  with  thwarted 
desire,  and  as  if  this  were  not  enough,  he  had 
another  whip  of  the  furies  with  which  to  lash 
me. 

"It  is  time  that  you  knew,"  said  he,  "what 
Vidal  has  hitherto  concealed  from  you,  that 
his  father  was  one  of  that  gang  of  torturers 
and  murderers  by  whom  your  father  was 
done  to  death.  If  the  thought  that  Vidal 
pretends  to  the  love  of  your  wife  is  not  enough 
to  rouse  you,  know  that  it  is  a  filial  duty  to 
avenge  a  father's  murder." 

I  know  not  whether  Lure  spoke  the  truth, 
for  fiends  lie — 't  is  enough  that  I  believed  it 


64  French  Abbeys 

then,  and  could  I  have  entered  the  Abbey, 
even  that  holy  place  would  have  been  no 
sanctuary  to  Pierre  Vidal. 

One  day  while  I  lay  thus  in  ambush  there 
came  another  guest  to  Montmajour,  even  the 
beloved  Francis  of  Assisi,  who  had  come  to 
Aries  to  attend  a  great  council,  and  wearying 
of  the  multitudes  who  thronged  him,  sought 
retirement  in  this  remote  monastery. 

But  even  in  the  wilderness  Francis  could 
not  resist  the  necessity  laid  upon  him  to 
" preach  the  gospel  tQ  every  creature."  He 
had  already  exhorted  the  birds  and  the  fishes, 
and  when  his  quick  eye  singled  out  the  forms 
of  wolves  lurking  near  the  Abbey,  and  the 
monks  told  him  of  the  scourge  which  devas- 
tated the  region,  he  caused  a  placard  to  be 
written  and  posted  on  the  gates,  inviting  the 
wolves  to  assemble,  on  the  following  day,  in  a 
waste  place  outside  the  walls,  and  listen  to  a 
sermon  which  he  would  preach. 

It  was  Lure  who  spied  the  announcement 
and  read  it  to  us  sneeringly.  "Here  is  rare 
sport!"  he  cried.  "Shall  we  listen ,*to  the 
monk,  and  making  a  dash  all  together,  digest 
the  preacher  with  his  sermon?" 

"More  like  we  shall  be  killed  ourselves," 
said  an  old  ranger  of  the  forest.     "It  is    a 


The  Wolf  of  St  Francis  65 

trick  to  draw  us  from  cover  and  fall  upon 
us." 

"They  cannot  cut  us  off  here,"  I  replied, 
"the  way  is  open  on  every  hand.  It  is  long 
since  I  have  heard  the  voice  of  a  human  being 
save  in  agony,  and  never  since  my  mother  led 
me  by  the  hand  have  I  entered  church  to 
listen  to  a  sermon.  I  am  curious  to  hear 
what  this  man  has  to  say  to  such  malefactors 
as  we  are.  Bold  must  he  be  to  meet  us  thus, 
but  he  will  find  a  congregation  that  will  listen 
unmoved  to  his  menaces." 

"Nay,"  said  Lure,  "I  for  one  shall  not 
come,  for  I  dread  holy  water  more  than 
spears  and  firebrands.  Know  you  not  that 
if  a  drop  touches  a  loup-garou  the  evil  spirit 
which  possesses  him  is  forced  to  leave  his  body 
and  show  himself  in  his  proper  guise?  No 
more  roaming  in  the  wild,  free  woods  with 
merry  companions,  but  chains  and  hell  hence- 
forth for  ever." 

"So  be  it,"  I  growled.  "No  hell  can  be 
worse  than  this  which  I  carry  in  my  breast. 
As  well  be  a  devil  as  a  beast." 

At  the  appointed  time  Francis  issued  fear- 
lessly from  the  portal  of  the  Abbey,  followed 
at  a  discreet  distance  by  the  bolder  mem- 
bers of   the  community.     The  gentle  monk 


66  French  Abbeys 

advanced  until  he  was  within  hearing  of  the 
pack,  which  squatted  in  a  semicircle;  and 
began  his  discourse  in  those  tones  of  pene- 
trating sweetness  which  gave  him  such  in- 
stant power  over  his  human  audiences. 

"My  brave  brothers  of  the  wilderness,"  he 
said,  "we  have  more  in  common  than  ye  per- 
haps recognise.  Long  have  I  marvelled  at 
your  valour,  and  at  your  endurance  of  cold 
and  of  hunger,  of  weariness  and  of  all  other 
privations.  With  what  resignation  ye  con- 
tent yourselves  for  habitation  with  a  rocky 
cave  as  austere  as  the  cell  of  some  holy  an- 
chorite. Ye  know  naught  of  the  sinful  lux- 
uries of  men,  but  practise  the  vow  of  poverty 
as  strictly  as  professed  monks,  wandering  in 
your  grey  robes  without  purse  or  scrip,  bare- 
footed, over  the  frozen  earth,  seeking  your 
sustenance  like  humble  mendicants,  or  if  you 
snatch  it  like  bandits,  your  sin  is  less  than 
theirs,  since  it  is  one  of  ignorance.  Of  all  our 
graver  crimes — blasphemy,  idolatry,  heresy, 
slander,  lying,  foul  speaking,  cowardice,  and 
treachery — ye  are  guiltless,  and  in  your  one 
fault,  cruelty,  ye  are  far  surpassed  by  man. 

"My  brother  wolves,  every  living  creature 
must  seek  its  meat  from  God.  I  blame  you 
not  that  ye  eat  not  grass  like  the  ox,  since 


The  Wolf  of  St.  Francis  67 

this  is  not  your  nature ;  but  I  come  to  bid  you 
refrain  from  the  flesh  of  men.  Let  your 
human  brethren  come  and  go  in  safety,  and 
ye  shall  be  fed  from  their  superfluity.  On 
such  of  you  as  will  accept  this  compact  I  will 
bestow  the  blessed  rosary.  Wear  it  about 
your  necks,  and  come  without  misgiving  to 
the  refectory  of  this  Abbey  and  into  the 
markets  of  Les  Baux;  no  one  shall  do  you 
harm,  and  flesh  shall  be  given  you  until  such 
time  as  a  human  being  is  again  slain  by  one 
of  your  number." 

Francis  held  his  rosaries  aloft,  but  no  wolf 
stirred  to  accept  the  pledge  and  safeguard. 
In  my  heart  alone  a  dumb  longing  swelled  in- 
tolerably, and  grovelling  to  the  ground  I 
crept  to  his  feet. 

The  future  saint  laid  his  hand  upon  my 
head,  and  I  could  see  that  a  great  pity  for  my 
misery  stirred  his  soul. 

"My  brother,"  he  said,  as  he  placed  the 
rosary  about  my  neck,  "our  knowledge  is  the 
measure  of  our  guilt.  Whatsoever  sins  thou 
mayest  in  thy  ignorance  have  committed — 
they  are  not  imputed  unto  thee.  Now  that 
thou  hast  been  enlightened,  go  and  sin  no 
more." 

But  this  was  not  the  boon  which  I  desired. 


68  French  Abbeys 

Where  were  the  wonder-working  drops  which 
would  restore  me  to  my  lost  estate  ? 

"I  sinned  against  light,"  I  groaned,  "but 
may  not  even  such  sin  be  forgiven?  Impose 
any  penance,  but  finally  give  me  again  the 
semblance  of  a  man." 

Francis  had  turned  to  go,  but  my  moans 
touched  his  heart,  though  he  could  not 
understand  them. 

"My  unhappy  brother,"  he  said  gently, 
"I  know  not  what  thy  trouble  may  be,  but  I 
shall  pray  for  thee.  I  charge  thee  to  watch 
over  this  brotherhood,  protecting  all  who 
dwell  beneath  their  roof  from  violence,  and 
in  as  thou  shewest  mercy  O  wolf,  shall  mercy 
be  shewn  to  thee." 

So  speaking  and  having  made  the  sign  of 
the  cross  over  me  he  departed. 

Lure  also  left  me,  uttering  a  demoniac 
howl,  and  though  there  was  no  change  in  my 
outward  semblance  there  came  over  me  such 
peace  and  joy  as  I  had  not  felt  since  the 
night  of  my  transformation,  for  I  compre- 
hended dumbly  that  for  even  me  there  was 
hope.  Therefore  I  set  myself  patiently  to 
the  task  which  Francis  had  imposed,  becom- 
ing the  watch -dog  of  the  Monastery  and  walk- 


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The  Wolf  of  St.  Francis  69 

ing  beside  the  monks  when  they  issued  from 
the  Abbey  on  their  errands  of  necessity  or 
mercy.  Thus  I  became  known  at  Les  Baux 
as  the  Wolf  of  St.  Francis,  and  my  meat  was 
given  me  even  as  the  holy  man  had  promised. 

And  once  it  so  happened,  while  I  was  wait- 
ing patiently  for  it  at  the  door  of  a  flesher, 
there  came  a  woman  with  a  beautiful  little 
girl  about  five  years  of  age.  They  had  heard 
of  me,  for  the  child  came  at  once  and  fondled 
and  caressed  me,  the  woman  not  forbidding. 
The  touch  of  the  child's  fingers  thrilled  me. 

"Good  wolf,  dear  wolf,"  she  said,  "come 
with  me  to  the  chateau,  and  play  with  me, 
for  it  is  very  sad  there,  and  my  mamma  does 
naught  but  weep  and  pray." 

"And  does  your  mistress  still  persist  in  her 
strange  infatuation?"  asked  the  flesher. 

"That  she  does,"  replied  the  woman,  "for 
though  gallants  in  plenty  come  to  woo  she  will 
see  no  one,  but  him  whom  she  hides  within 
her  bower,  unworthy  though  he  is  of  her  great 
love.  Moreover,  though  she  will  not  admit 
it,  the  end  is  drawing  near.  The  malady 
with  which  he  is  afflicted,  which  the  leeches 
call  lycanthropia  (Note  B) ,  increases.  After 
each  paroxysm  he  grows  weaker,  and  she  has 
gone  to  the  Abbey  of  Montmajour  to  beg  the 


70  French  Abbeys 

blessed  Francis  to  return  with  her  and  re- 
store him  to  health.  He  has  performed  such 
miracles,  they  say,  but  will  he  even  at  her 
prayer  lengthen  the  life  of  one  of  whom  the 
world  were  well  rid?,, 

Then  I  comprehended  that  the  woman  was 
not  the  child's  mother  but  her  nurse,  and  that 
the  little  maid  was  my  own  daughter,  a 
babe  in  the  cradle  when  last  I  saw  her,  and 
such  love  and  longing  constrained  me  that  I 
followed  her  obediently.  But  what  I  should 
find  and  what  I  should  do  when  I  crossed  the 
threshold  of  my  home  I  knew  not,  for  my 
mind  misgave  me. 

As  we  approached  the  castle  I  could  see  the 
lighted  casement  of  my  chamber,  and  pre- 
sently the  form  of  my  wife  silhouetted  darkly 
against  its  brightness.  It  passed  swiftly,  and 
I  followed  on  unhindered  over  the  draw- 
bridge and  up  the  staircase  until  I  stood  in 
the  antechamber.  The  nurse  lifted  the 
tapestry  for  the  child  to  pass,  and  I  saw  that 
my  wife  was  not  alone.  The  gentle  Francis 
was  by  her  side,  and  they  both  bent  over  a 
man  who  lay  as  though  asleep  upon  the 
couch. 

And  .even  as  I  wondered  who  this  man 
might  be,  Barrale  kissed  him,  saying : ' '  Waken, 


THE  WOLF  OF  SAINT    FRANCIS. 
From  a  painting  by  Luc  Olivier  Merson. 


The  Wolf  of  St.  Francis  71 

dearest,  the  blessed  Francis  has  come  to  heal 
thee." 

Then  I  knew  him  for  my  worst  enemy,  and 
I  gloated  that  he  was  delivered  into  my 
power.  What  should  hinder  me  from  rend- 
ing him  as  he  lay  helpless  ?  But  as  I  crouched 
to  spring  the  voice  of  Francis  enthralled  me 
again  with  its  all-compelling  charm,  as  he 
chanted  his  wondrous  canticle : 

"Praised  be  Thou,  0  my  Lord,  of  them  that  do  show 
Forgiveness  unto  others  for  love  of  Thee,  and  do 

endure 
Tribulation.     Yea,  blessed  be  they  that 
Do   endure  in  peace,   for  of  Thee,   0   Thou  most 
Highest, 

Shall  they  be  crowned?" 

"Dost  thou  forgive?"  he  asked  of  the  dying 
man,  but  it  seemed  to  me  that  the  question 
was  put  to  me  also;  and  "Nay,"  I  cried,  "it  is 
more  than  I  can  do  and  live;  but  I  forgive 
and  die." 

And  with  the  travail  of  that  soul-birth  my 
spirit  was  rent  from  the  body  of  the  beast  and 
floated  viewless  above  its  carcass  and  into  the 
adjoining  room,  where  Francis  chanted  tri- 
umphantly : 

"Praised  be  Thou,  O  my  Lord  of  Sister  Death,  the 


72  French  Abbeys 

Death  of  the  body,  from  whom  no  man  living  may- 
Escape — 

And  blessed  be  they  that  shall 
Walk  according  to  Thy  most  holy  will,  for 
Unto  them  shall  the  second  death  do  no  hurt." 

But  even  in  that  supreme  moment,  when  it 
seemed  to  me  that  my  soul,  forgiven  even  as 
it  forgave,  was  taking  its  flight  from  earth,  I 
turned  for  a  last  farewell  toward  my  wife,  as 
she,  with  an  exceeding  bitter  cry — ''He  is 
dying!  O  spare  him  to  me,  merciful  God," — 
flung  herself  beside  the  man  upon  the  couch. 

Marvelling  greatly,  I  gazed  upon  him.  It 
was  indeed  my  worst  enemy  who  lay  agonis- 
ing there,  not  Pierre  Vidal,  but  my  very  self. 
The  body  of  Ugo  des  Baux,  from  which  my 
soul  had  been  driven  by  the  lightning's  bolt, 
had  lain  bereft  of  reason  and  paralysed  in 
living  death  for  five  years.  And  yet  during 
all  that  time  my  Barrale  had  tended  my  poor 
semblance  with  unwavering  devotion,  hoping 
ever  against  hope  that  I  would  be  given  to 
her  again,  and  swooning  in  anguish  when 
freed  from  her  long  bondage. 

When  I  understood  this  devotion  the 
felicity  of  heaven  had  not  so  mucn  attractive- 
ness for  me  as  the  yearning  face  of  the  woman 
pressed  against  my  inanimate  one,  and  my 


The  Wolf  of  St.  Francis  73 

spirit  in  its  answering  longing  leapt  back  into 
the  cold  clay,  and  looked  through  human  eyes 
into  hers. 

This  is  my  true  confession  made  to  Francis 
of  Assisi,  from  whom  I  received  blessed  abso- 
lution ;  and  written  out  and  given  sealed,  as 
I  have  stated,  into  the  hands  of  the  Abbot  of 
Montmajour  what  time  I  built  him  a  strong 
tower  and  garrisoned  it  with  archers,  to  take 
the  place  of  the  wolf  guardian  which  the 
monks  had  lost,  and  to  carry  out  the  behest 
of  Francis  to  keep  watch  and  ward  over  the 
Abbey. 

It  was  not  hard  for  me  to  forgive  Pierre 
Vidal,  now  that  I  knew  that  Barrale  had 
never  loved  him,  and  whether  his  father  were 
indeed  concerned  in  the  death  of  mine,  or  that 
were  a  figment  of  my  disordered  imagination, 
surely  he  were  in  no  wise  accountable.  In  his 
retreat  at  Montmajour  he  had  resolved  to 
become  a  crusader,  and  he  sailed  with  Richard 
of  the  Lion  Heart  for  the  Holy  Land,  and  we 
saw  him  no  more. 

I  have  told  this  story  to  no  one  else  save  my 
wife,  for  it  is  so  marvellous  that  even  she  who 
knows  full  well  that  I  am  descended  from  the 
Babylonian  king  who  suffered  like  penance 


74  French  Abbeys 

(Note  C)  cannot  believe  but  that  it  is  a  hal- 
lucination which  haunted  me  what  time  I  lay 
insane  in  my  own  castle,  and  she  has  begged 
me  to  keep  it  close,  lest  doubt  as  to  my  sanity 
might  still  prevail.  So  difficult  is  it  for  those 
unillumined  to  believe  the  most  perfectly  at- 
tested miracle.  But  Francis  found  it  not  in- 
credible, and  he  read  to  us  (translating  as  he 
read  into  the  vulgar  tongue)  the  history  of 
the  metamorphosis  of  my  far-away  ancestor, 
how — 

' '  He  was  driven  from  the  sons  of  men,  and 
his  heart  was  made  like  the  beasts.  His 
dwelling  was  with  the  wild,  and  his  body  was 
wet  with  the  dew  of  heaven  till  his  hairs  were 
like  eagle's  feathers  and  his  nails  like  claws.' ■ 

Like  him  also  when  "mine  understanding 
returned  unto  me  I  blessed  the  Most  High 
whose  works  are  truth  and  whose  ways  judg- 
ment, and  they  who  walk  in  pride  He  is  able 
to  abase." 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  VISION  OF  SAINT  BERNARD 

THIBAULT  the  Firebrand,  doughty  knight 
though  he  was,  felt  his  knees  knock  to- 
gether with  sudden  fear  as  he  stood  without 
the  door  of  his  wife's  oratory  and  heard  her 
passionate  ravings  as  she  knelt  before  the 
image  of  the  Crucified. 

Unscrupulous  in  most  matters,  his  super- 
stitious soul  had  a  horror  of  blasphemy,  and 
he  had  never  imagined  that  such  words  could 
be  uttered  in  the  presence  of  God,  by  even  the 
most  presumptuous  sinner;  how  much  more 
incredible  to  hear  them  from  the  lips  of  the 
wife  whom  he  had  thought  all  piety  and 
gentleness. 

"Is  it  naught  to  Thee,  O  Christ!"  she  cried, 
"that  this  man  tortures  my  heart,  crucifies 
me  with  such  agony  as  even  Thou  didst  never 
suffer,  in  that  I  cannot  bear  it,  that  I  cannot 

75 


76  French  Abbeys 

bear  it  ?  Slay  him,  O  righteous  God,  take  him 
from  the  world  ere  his  cruelty  shall  have 
wrought  the  perdition  of  my  reason  and  of 
my  soul." 

Of  whom  was  his  wife  speaking?  Surely 
not  of  himself,  for  he  had  loved  her  beyond  his 
own  salvation.  Before  he  had  met  her,  under 
the  preaching  of  the  saintly  Bernard,  he  had 
heard  the  divine  call  and  had  gone  away 
almost  persuaded  to  renounce  the  world  for  a 
religious  life.  Almost,  and  then  he  had  seen 
her,  and  had  answered  the  supreme  question 
ringing  in  his  ears:  "What  shall  a  man  re- 
ceive in  exchange  for  his  soul?"  with  the  as- 
sertion: "I  will  give  my  soul  for  thy  love,  my 
Andouille." 

They  had  wedded,  and  save  when  absent  on 
some  foray  he  had  in  his  rough  way  devoted 
himself  to  her.  Well  she  knew  that  she  had 
no  rival  but  his  sword. 

After  all,  he  was  not  cut  out  for  a  monk 
but  a  soldier,  and  he  had  often  wished  that  he 
might  do  feudal  service  with  his  sword  to  his 
liege  lord  Christ  in  the  same  way  that  he 
held  himself  ready  to  follow  his  king.  Alas ! 
Christ  would  not  accept  a  divided  heart ;  and 
he  had  turned  a  deaf  ear  to  conscience,  only 
pacing  the   floor  at  night  when  he  thought 


The  Vision  of  Saint  Bernard        77 

his  wife  asleep,  and  answering  its  monitions 
with  fierce  imprecations  and  reassertions  that 
though  hell  were  the  penalty  yet  would  he  not 
give  her  up. 

Why  then  was  she  not  happy,  and  who  was 
this  man  whom  she  besought  God  to  destroy  ? 
He  questioned  his  own  conduct  if  in  any  way 
he  could  unwittingly  have  grieved  her,  and 
thought  himself  innocent.  True,  in  common 
with  most  barons  of  the  time,  he  had  exacted 
severe  feudal  service  from  his  serfs,  and  had 
been  not  over-careful  for  their  well-being. 
What  were  the  griefs  and  miseries  of  these 
swine  to  him  ?  It  vexed  him  that  the  gold  he 
gave  his  lady  for  her  personal  pranking  was  so 
often  spent  for  medicaments  and  clothing  for 
these  ungrateful  clowns.  The  only  rating  he 
had  ever  given  her  was  for  cheapening  her 
state  in  this  way.  He  was  not  accounted 
hard-hearted  or  quarrelsome  by  his  neighbours 
of  like  degree  with  himself.  On  the  contrary, 
he  loved  to  revel  with  them,  and  when  they 
visited  him  not  venison  alone  but  costlier 
viands  smoked  for  weeks  upon  his  board,  and 
the  oldest  wines  of  Champagne  burst  from 
their  flasks  like  long  imprisoned  fountains, 
and  danced  and  sang  until  the  strongest  heads 
reeled  to  the  same  giddy  measure.     What  if 


7$  French  Abbeys 

the  jokes  and  tales  grew  too  highly  flavoured 
for  my  lady's  ear?  wine  only  made  him  more 
boisterously  mirthful  and  uxorious.  Even 
when  deepest  in  his  cups  he  never  lifted  his 
hand  against  her,  but  babbled  of  his  devotion 
with  maudlin  tears  when  too  drunk  to  swear. 
It  was  for  her  sake  as  much  as  his  own,  he  told 
himself,  that  he  had  decided  to  serve  the 
world  instead  of  heaven,  and  she  as  well  as  he 
should  have  the  best  it  had  to  offer. 

So  he  had  lived  for  ten  years  a  life  of  grossest 
self-indulgence,  with  no  ambition  worthy  of  a 
man  to  tempt  him  from  the  quicksand  of  de- 
terioration into  which  he  had  fallen.  And  all 
the  while,  in  spite  of  Andouille's  endeavours 
to  rouse  him  from  sloth,  in  spite  of  the  pain 
in  her  pleading  eyes,  he  had  deluded  himself 
with  the  idea  that  it  was  all  for  her  sake  and 
the  world  well  lost.  Then  suddenly  a  change 
had  been  wrought  in  him,  his  better  self  awoke, 
and  the  life  which  he  had  hitherto  led  filled 
him  with  disgust.  The  change  had  been 
brought  about  by  a  number  of  causes  con- 
verging and  concentrating  in  the  unexpected 
appearance  upon  the  scene  of  the  man  who 
had  once  before  so  strongly  influenced  him, 
the  all -persuasive  Bernard. 

The  first  circumstance  to  rouse  Thibault 


The  Vision  of  Saint  Bernard        79 

from  his  lethargy  was  the  unpleasant  realisa- 
tion that  his  reckless  prodigality  had  so  de- 
pleted his  fortune  that  some  means  must  be 
immediately  sought  for  repairing  it.  Only 
one  expedient  occurred  to  him.  His  castle 
was  but  a  little  distance  from  the  great  high- 
way leading  from  Paris  eastward  to  Lorraine, 
and  just  outside  his  hunting-park  this  road 
dipped  into  a  lonely  vale  called  the  Valley  of 
Wormwood.  The  valley  broadened  toward 
the  east  into  marshy  lands,  whose  pools  the 
rising  sun  turned  to  blood,  but  the  stream 
that  spread  itself  here  was  confined  higher  up 
toward  the  west  by  a  rocky  gorge  and  brawled 
beneath  a  stone  bridge  defended  by  an  an- 
cient tower.  This  rude  castle  Thibault's  kins- 
man, the  great  Count  Hugh  of  Champagne, 
had  in  time  past  leased  to  a  bandit,  who 
exacted  toll  from  rich  merchants  and  other 
travellers.  It  was  reputed  that  he  even 
robbed  pilgrims  setting  out  on  their  journey 
to  the  Holy  Land,  and  that  those  who  threat- 
ened to  complain  to  the  king  found  graves 
without  headstones  in  the  red  marsh.  Hugh 
de  Champagne  had  heard  rumours  of  the 
doings  of  his  tenant,  and  upon  his  death  the 
Count  left  the  domain  to  the  Abbey  of  Citeaux, 
hoping  thus  to  assoil  his  soul  from  any  blame 


80  French  Abbeys 

for  accepting  as  rental  money  wrongfully 
gained. 

The  Cistercians  had  not  hitherto  chosen  to 
take  possession  of  their  legacy,  and  the  bandit 
had  offered  Thibault,  who  was  the  Count's 
executor,  a  large  sum  for  permission  to  re- 
main undisturbed  in  the  stronghold.  This 
bribe  Thibault  had  declined  with  a  great 
show  of  indignation,  visiting  the  tower  with  a 
troop  of  his  men-at-arms  and  forcibly  ejecting 
the  brigand.  At  the  same  time  he  could  not 
help  noticing  how  admirably  this  toll-gate 
was  situated  for  its  purpose;  and  since  then 
the  idea  had  more  than  once  crossed  his  mind 
that  it  would  be  easy  to  take  the  place  of  the 
unscrupulous  tenant,  and,  with  visor  down 
and  otherwise  disguised,  levy  the  same  road- 
tariff,  none  suspecting  that  the  tower  had 
changed  masters. 

Being  hard  pressed  by  a  Jew  of  Metz  for 
the  return  of  borrowed  moneys,  and  learning 
that  his  creditor  was  on  his  way  to  Paris  for 
the  purchase  of  goods  and  must  pass  through 
the  Valley  of  Wormwood,  he  at  length  suc- 
cumbed to  the  temptation  and  sallied  forth  to 
waylay  him,. 

It  so  happened  that  the  robber,  though  dis- 
possessed, had  returned  to  his  lair,  and  when 


The  Vision  of  Saint  Bernard       81 

Thibault  entered  the  valley  he  heard  a  great 
fracas  and  saw  the  bandits  descending  upon 
a  convoy.  It  was  not,  as  they  supposed,  the 
train  of  some  rich  merchant,  but  a  party  of 
twelve  monks,  who,  with  a  few  serfs  lead- 
ing mules  laden  with  their  poor  effects,  had 
been  sent  by  the  Abbot  of  Citeaux  to  take 
possession  of  their  fief  and  to  found  a  new 
monastery. 

Fortunately  for  Thibault's  reputation,  a 
comprehension  of  the  situation  was  vouch- 
safed him  through  the  outcries  of  the  fleeing 
servants,  and  he  arrived  upon  the  scene  in  the 
character  of  a  rescuer  instead  of  that  of  a 
brigand.  For  the  rest,  nothing  could  have 
induced  him  to  lay  hands  on  the  property  of 
the  Church,  and  when  he  recognised  Bernard 
at  the  head  of  the  little  party  he  thanked  his 
guardian  angel  who  had  saved  him  from 
mortal  sin.  The  bandit  chief  was  speedily 
secured  and  a  halter  placed  about  his  neck; 
but  when  Bernard  interceded  for  the  life  of 
the  wretch  Thibault  grudgingly  placed  the 
free  end  of  the  halter  in  the  monk's  hand.  It 
irked  him  not  to  be  allowed  to  show  his  zeal 
for  holy  Church  by  stringing  up  this  mis- 
creant whose  crime,  his  own  conscience  told 
him,  he  had  by  the  merest  chance  escaped. 

6 


82  French  Abbeys 

The  malefactor  thus  confided  to  the  saint 
became  one  of  the  most  devoted  monks  in  the 
new  Abbey  of  Clairvaux,  which  was  founded 
in  the  bandit  stronghold,  and  Bernard's  com- 
ing proved  a  turning-point  as  well  in  the 
career  of  Thibault  the  Firebrand.  Though  he 
would  not  acknowledge  the  fact  even  to  him- 
self, he  had  not  been  happy  in  the  life  of 
sensuality  in  which  he  had  steeped  himself. 
He  was  weary  of  inglorious  ease,  of  gluttony, 
and  of  drink,  and  satiated  by  the  very  mo- 
notony of  Andouille's  affection. 

" God's  death!  it  is  the  life  of  a  stalled  ox 
and  not  of  a  man,"  he  had  confided  to  a  boon 
companion  who  was  also  sick  of  peace  and 
spoiling  for  a  good  fight.  "If  only  France 
were  at  war  with  some  other  nation,  how 
gladly  would  I  take  the  field!" 

"There  is  need  enough  for  our  arms,"  re- 
plied the  other,  "for  the  Saracens  pollute  the 
Holy  City  and  harass  pilgrims  while  our 
swords  rust  in  their  scabbards,  and  all  the 
kings  of  Christendom,  and  even  the  Pope  as 
well,  look  on  with  indifference. 

"The  hearts  of  hundreds,  nay  thousands,  of 
noble  knights  are  swelling  with  indignation, 
but  there  will  be  no  crusade,  for  only  one  man, 
the  eloquent  Bernard,  can  rouse  the  nations 


The  Vision  of  Saint  Bernard       83 

from  their  apathy,  and  he  is  lost  to  the  world, 
having  declared  that  he  will  never  again  ad- 
dress an  assembly  outside  his  own  priory 
of  Clairvaux. ' ' 

Andouille  had  overheard  this  conversation 
and  others  like  it.  The  memory  of  the  first 
glorious  crusade  led  by  Godfrey  of  Bouillon 
was  fresh  in  all  minds.  Here  was  a  cause 
worthy  of  high  emprise,  worthy  of  hardship 
and  death.  What  calamity  indeed  was  the 
risk  of  glorious  death  for  Christ,  compared 
with  that  death  of  the  soul  and  the  intellect 
into  which  her  husband  was  daily  slipping? 

With  all  the  zeal  of  an  ardent  believer  and 
all  the  love  of  an  anxious  wife  she  endeav- 
oured to  persuade  her  husband  to  join  the 
little  band  of  knights  who  were  labouring  to 
fan  the  flame  of  a  crusade.  What,  she  asked 
herself,  could  temporary  absence  do  but  make 
more  intense  the  rapture  of  their  reunion? 
Her  husband  was  sick  of  her  continual  cod- 
dling. He  would  appreciate  more  her  loving 
devoir  after  a  season  of  hardship. 

She  believed  that  the  crusade  could  be  put 
on  foot  without  the  agency  of  Bernard,  whose 
pitiless  aceticism  had  gained  for  him  the 
name  of  liLe  terreur  des  meres  et  des  jeunes 
femmes." 


84  French  Abbeys 

They  had  reason  to  fear  him,  all  loving 
women,  for  his  irresistible  influence  had  even 
been  pitted  against  all  that  they  held  dearest, 
luring  their  sons  and  lovers  from  their  homes 
to  the  cloister,  poisoning  their  hearts  with  the 
terrible  virus  of  his  sublime  fanaticism.  And 
now  by  a  strange  dispensation  of  Providence 
her  enemy  had  come  to  her  door.  Bernard 
had  established  himself  in  the  robber  castle, 
converting  it  into  a  priory,  and  its  marshy 
valley  into  fruitful  fields. 

Fortunately,  as  it  seemed  to  Andouille, 
Bernard  appeared  to  have  renounced  all  in- 
terest in  the  outside  world.  As  his  priory  re- 
quired less  of  his  attention,  he  spent  hours 
and  even  days  together  in  a  lonely  cave,  ab- 
sorbed in  devotion,  his  soul  almost  ravished 
from  his  body  in  its  contemplation  of  the 
bliss  of  heaven,  to  which  he  prayed  that  he 
might  soon  pass. 

In  vain  Thibault  strove  to  interest  him  in 
the  crusade.  He  would  neither  listen  to  him 
nor  touch  the  food  which  he  brought,  and 
Thibault  returned  to  his  castle  after  each 
visit  more  and  more  saddened. 

"He  will  die,"  he  said  to  his  wife,  "and  the 
world  has  such  need  of  him  at  this  time.  I 
told  him  this  as  the  mouthpiece  of  my  fellows. 


The  Vision  of  Saint  Bernard       85 

We  must  have  Bernard  to  organise  us,  to 
plead  for  the  crusade  with  king  and  emperor, 
to  awaken  popular  enthusiasm  as  no  one  else 
can.  Without  him  there  will  be  no  crusade, 
and  Jerusalem  will  be  given  over  to  the  in- 
fidel.' ' 

The  lady  Andouille  crept  nearer  to  her  hus- 
band and  stroked  his  hand. 

"If  Bernard  should  undertake  this  task  of 
organising  the  knights,"  she  asked,  "and 
should  institute  a  new  order  of  chivalry,  are 
you  certain  that  the  rules  with  which  he  would 
bind  you  would  be  divinely  inspired?" 

"He  would  not  accept  the  responsibility," 
Thibault  replied,  "unless  he  knew  of  a  cer- 
tainty that  he  was  the  mouthpiece  of  God." 

"And  if  he  believed  that  the  rules  of  his 
own  order  were  the  only  ones  for  knights  as 
well  as  monks,  and  should  impose  upon  you 
obedience  and  chastity,  would  you  leave  me 
for  ever?" 

"We  know  not  that  he  would  frame  such 
a  code,"  Thibault  replied  evasively.  "But 
whatsoever  he  commands  I  will  obey. ' ' 

Andouille  uttered  a  cry  as  one  suddenly 
stabbed.  "Nay,  you  do  know  that  he  would 
demand  such  renunciation,  and  you  love  me 
no  longer."     She  flung  her  arms  about  her 


86  French  Abbeys 

husband's  neck,  but  he  put  her  from  him, 
saying  coldly: 

"  I  would  have  become  a  monk  but  for  you. 
Would  you  have  me  lose  my  soul  utterly  by 
refusing  Christ  this  tardy  service?" 

"Nay,"  she  replied.  "Lay  your  cause  be- 
fore God,  as  I  also  will  lay  mine,  and  we  will 
leave  the  result  in  His  hands." 

Thibault  had  not  been  surprised  that  her 
woman's  heart  had  rebelled  at  first  at  the 
thought  of  separation  for  the  rest  of  their  lives, 
but  he  had  no  idea  of  the  intensity  of  her  love 
until  at  the  door  of  his  wife's  oratory  he  had 
overheard  her  wild  weeping  and  wilder  prayer : 

' '  O  righteous  God,  take  this  man  out  of  the 
world  before  he  has  desolated  it.  Remove 
him  to  the  heaven  which  he  is  so  impatient  to 
enter.  In  Thy  hands  are  life  and  death. 
Manifest  thy  judgments  now,  O  great  just 
God.  Is  it  right  that  this  man  should  in  Thy 
name  commit  this  monstrous  crime?  Strike 
him  suddenly  ere  he  has  time  to  laden  his  soul 
with  more  suffering  of  the  innocent." 

There  was  silence  for  a  brief  space  as  though 
the  agonised  suppliant  were  awaiting  an 
answer.  Then  she  seemed  to  have  heard  it 
through  some  inner  sense,  for,  awed  and 
stricken  with  surprise,  she  murmured:   "Yea, 


The  Vision  of  Saint  Bernard       87 

Lord,  I  know  Thou  workest  through  human 
hands;  but  how  can  I  be  certain  of  Thy 
will?" 

Again  there  was  silence,  then  broken  cries 
of  remonstrance.  "Nay,  Lord,  work  through 
another  This  task  is  too  great  for  me.  I 
cannot  do  it." 

Thibault  knew  now  that  the  man  whom  she 
so  hated  was  Bernard.  Could  it  be  possible 
that  her  jealous  adoration  of  her  husband  had 
so  warped  her  reason  that  in  her  fear  of  losing 
him  through  Bernard's  agency  a  murderous 
fanaticism  had  taken  possession  of  her  mind, 
and  she  believed  that  she  had  divine  permis- 
sion to  compass  the  monk's  death? 

He  regarded  her  with  keen  anxiety  when 
she  rejoined  him,  but  she  greeted  him  as 
tranquilly  as  though  she  had  but  come  from 
singing  her  babe  to  rest  instead  of  from  one 
of  those  fierce  agonies  in  which  souls  are  born 
or  die. 

"Thibault,"  she  said,  "if  thou  art  so  sure  of 
the  will  of  God,  why  dost  thou  not  do  it?" 

"What  do  you  mean?"  he  stammered. 

"Have  out  a  litter,"  she  replied,  "and 
bring  Bernard  hither.  I  myself  will  nurse  him 
and  prepare  with  mine  own  hands  the  food 
which  his  weakness  demands." 


88  French  Abbeys 

But  Thibault  was  not  reassured.  What 
might  not  his  wife  be  tempted  to  do  or  to 
leave  undone  to  turn  the  crisis  toward  death 
when  she  had  shown  so  plainly  in  which 
direction  she  wished  the  pendulum  of  fate  to 
swing  ? 

He  had  already  written  for  a  learned  phy- 
sician who  could  care  for  Bernard  in  his  own 
priory,  but  would  the  enthusiast  submit  him- 
self to  a  medical  practitioner? 

Distracted  by  these  questions  he  slept  but 
little,  until  toward  dawn,  when  his  lady  gave 
him  a  sleeping  potion  which  did  its  work  so 
thoroughly  that  it  was  high  noon  when  he 
awaked. 

His  first  act  after  dressing  was  to  seek  the 
key  of  the  postern  gate  leading  into  the  Vale 
of  Wormwood,  but  it  was  not  in  its  accus- 
tomed place.  He  called  his  wife,  but  before 
he  could  question  her  he  saw  the  key  on  her 
chatelaine.  She  changed  colour  as  she  handed 
it  to  him,  admitting  that  she  had  taken  it; 
having  made  a  bowl  of  broth  which  she  was 
about  to  send  to  Bernard. 

"It  was  a  good  thought,"  he  said,  regarding 
her  keenly.  "Give  me  the  broth,  and  I  will 
be  your  messenger." 

Her  eyes  fell,  but  she  brought  him  the  dish. 


The  Vision  of  Saint  Bernard       89 

A  turmoil  of  apprehension  rushed  like  a  whirl- 
wind through  his  brain  as  he  carried  it  out  of 
the  castle.  His  favourite  hound  leapt  upon 
him  as  he  entered  the  bailey,  and  he  set  the 
dish  on  the  ground  before  it.  Then,  ashamed 
of  his  suspicions,  or  fearing  to  see  them  real- 
ised, he  kicked  the  dog  away,  emptied  the 
broth  into  the  moat,  and  returned  to  the 
kitchen,  telling  the  cook  that  he  had  stumbled 
and  spilled  the  soup  intended  for  Bernard. 
She  refilled  the  tureen  from  the  kettle  in 
which  his  own  breakfast  was  simmering,  and 
he  hurried  to  the  hermitage,  distracted  by 
fears  which  he  would  not  own. 

To  his  great  surprise  he  found  Bernard  in 
an  entirely  different  frame  of  mind. 

The  enthusiast  lay  upon  his  couch,  weak 
but  perfectly  sane.  The  light  of  exaltation 
still  shone  in  his  eyes,  but  it  was  subdued  by 
a  loving  interest  in  all  that  concerned  his 
friend,  his  brethren,  the  Church,  and  even  the 
world  at  large.  In  short,  Bernard  had  come 
back  to  this  present  world  and  to  humanity. 
He  pressed  Thibault's  hand  and  thanked  him 
gratefully  for  his  solicitude. 

"I  have  had  a  wonderful  vision,"  he  said. 
"The  Madonna,  in  response  to  my  unworthy 
invocation,  has  deigned  to  visit  me.     As  I  sat 


9°  French  Abbeys 

bowed  over  my  writing-table,  transcribing  the 
City  of  God  of  Saint  Augustine,  I  was  ware  of 
a  sudden  radiance,  and  a  perfume  as  from  the 
gardens  of  the  blessed.  I  did  not  look  up  at 
once,  for  I  was  smitten  with  awe,  but  pre- 
sently a  hand  was  laid  upon  the  page  on  which 
I  had  been  writing,  a  woman's  hand,  slender 
and  white,  and  a  voice  of  ineffable  sweetness 
called  me  by  name.  'Bernard,  Bernard,'  it 
said,  'the  Master  hath  need  of  thee.' 

"  'In  heaven?'  I  asked,  for  I  had  been  look- 
ing for  that  call. 

"'Nay,  on  earth,'  replied  the  voice;  and, 
looking  up,  I  saw  a  face  of  such  divine  beauty 
that  though  my  astonished  lips  framed  the 
question,  'Who  art  thou?'  I  knew  before  I 
heard  her  answer,  'The  handmaid  of  the 
Lord,'  that  I  was  in  the  presence  of  the 
Madonna. 

'"What  wouldst  thou  have  me  to  do?'  I 
asked  again,  '  for  it  shall  be  unto  me  according 
to  thy  word.' 

"'Then  rise,  Bernard,  rise  and  eat,'  she 
commanded,  placing  before  me  a  dish  even 
such  as  thou  bearest,  and  I  obeyed  her  gentle 
mandate  the  while  my  glorious  mistress  dis- 
coursed further  of  the  Lord's  will  to  me-ward, 
telling  me  that  I  was  called  to  rouse  the  na- 


The  Vision  of  Saint  Bernard       91 

tions  to  a  crusade  for  the  recovery  of  the  Holy- 
Sepulchre. 

'"But  I  am  too  weak  for  such  a  task,'  I 
objected. 

1 ' '  And  whose  fault  is  it  that  thou  art  weak  ? ' 
the  vision  asked.  '  The  spirit  of  God  glows 
within  thee  like  the  flame  in  an  alabaster 
lamp,  but  it  feeds  like  that  flame  on  physical 
nutriment.  It  flickers  now,  and  will  expire 
unless  thou  nourish  thy  lamp.  God  serves 
Himself  in  this  world  at  the  hands  of  human 
ministers.  Such  an  one,  a  wise  physician  of 
the  body,  He  sends  to  thee.  Be  not  unbe- 
lieving or  disobedient,  but  place  thyself  in  all 
things  under  his  commands  until  thy  bodily 
health  is  mended.  Then  shall  the  flame  of 
the  spirit  burn  brightly  and  the  task  which 
God  has  for  thee  to  do  shall  be  fully  revealed 
tothee.,,, 

"It  is  the  most  sensible  of  all  thy  visions," 
commented  Thibault,  "and  I  have  the  more 
credence  that  it  came  from  heaven  in  that  it 
is  utterly  unlike  the  dreams  of  a  disordered 
imagination  which  thou  hast  hitherto  re- 
counted to  me,  nightmares  of  fiends  hounding 
thee  on  to  self-murder.  There  is  foreknow- 
ledge of  events  in  it  too  which  thou  couldst 
not  have  imagined  of  thyself,  for  thy  friend 


92  French  Abbeys 

William  of  Champeaux  is  on  the  road  charged 
by  thy  superior  the  Abbot  of  Citeaux  to 
make  thee  sound  in  body  and  in  mind.  Eat, 
therefore,  of  this  food,  for  it  will  give  thee 
strength  to  wait  his  coming;  it  is  a  stew  of 
venison  which  I  myself  killed  but  yesterday.'' 

Bernard  obeyed  without  scruple.  ''Even 
such,"  he  said,  "was  the  flavour  of  the 
heavenly  manna  brought  me  by  the  Blessed 
Virgin." 

"How  looked  Our  Lady?"  asked  Thibault. 

"Exceeding  meek  and  fair,"  Bernard  re- 
plied. "A  mist  tempered  the  glory  of  her 
features  which  otherwise  I  doubtless  would 
not  have  been  able  to  look  upon,  but  a  golden 
radiance  was  diffused  through  this  mist,  giv- 
ing it  the  semblance  of  a  veil  of  saffron  tissue. 
Even  as  she  spoke  to  me,  a  light  wind  lifted 
this  mist  and  wafted  it  through  the  open  door 
of  my  cell  over  the  tops  of  the  trees  and 
beyond  my  vision,  and  when  I  turned  again 
toward  the  spot  where  my  divine  visitant  had 
stood,  she,  too,  had  vanished  from  my  sight." 

Thibault  doubted  not  the  reality  of  Ber- 
nard's vision.  The  ascetic  submitted  with 
docility  to  the  regimen  prescribed  by  his  phy- 
sician, and  his  recovery  seemed  to  all  who 
had  known  his  previous  mental  and  physical 


The  Vision  of  Saint  Bernard       93 

condition  nothing  short  of  miraculous.  Hardly 
was  his  health  established  before  he  was 
called  to  attend  the  Council  of  Troyes,  sum- 
moned to  debate  upon  the  formation  of  the 
new  order  of  the  Knights  of  the  Temple. 
His  capacity  for  organisation  now  showed  it- 
self as  clearly  as  his  persuasive  eloquence,  and 
at  the  unanimous  request  of  the  Council,  as 
well  as  of  the  knights  themselves,  Bernard 
drafted  the  ordinances  of  the  Templars.  His 
heart  was  in  the  scheme,  for  his  father  had 
been  a  knight,  and  his  boyish  imagination  had 
been  fed  with  his  tales  of  the  exploits  of 
Godfrey  and  of  Tancred,  told  in  all  their 
freshness,  for  Bernard  was  but  ten  years  of 
age  when  the  knights  returned  from  the  vic- 
torious first  crusade.  Bernard  believed  that 
what  had  been  so  gallantly  accomplished  in  his 
own  lifetime  could  easily  be  re-enacted.  With 
all  his  meekness  there  was  something  militant 
in  his  nature,  a  nature  of  many  contrasts. 

No  record  has  been  kept  of  the  wonderful 
extemporaneous  address  which  moved  thou- 
sands at  the  Abbey  of  Vezelay,  and  caused 
King  Louis  VII.  and  Queen  Eleanor  to  receive 
the  cross  at  his  hands;  or  of  hundreds  of 
other  sermons  with  which  he  convinced  count- 
less multitudes,   as  he  went  about  through 


94  French  Abbeys 

France  and  England,  Germany  and  Italy, 
crying  "God  wills  it,"  till,  as  Bernard  himself 
wrote,  "the  cities  and  castles  were  deserted, 
and  wives  were  made  widows." 

Stern  as  the  rule  of  Saint  Benedict  were 
the  regulations  which  he  imposed  upon  the 
Templars. 

But  harder  than  poverty,  than  abject  obe- 
dience, than  privation,  peril,  and  exile,  was 
that  mandate  which  tore  husband  from  wife 
and  from  the  prattling  voices  of  little  child- 
ren, making  the  love  of  man  and  woman  and 
the  pride  and  joy  of  fatherhood  deadly  sins. 

Bernard  forbade  the  Templars  to  hold  con- 
verse even  with  devout  women,  "because  the 
Ancient  Enemy  hath  by  female  society  with- 
drawn many  from  the  right  path  to  Para- 
dise." 

And  in  the  last  chapter  of  his  ordinances  he 
prohibited  them  from  offering  even  to  their 
sisters  and  their  mothers  the  kiss  of  affection, 
"ut  omnium  mulierum  fugiantur  oscula" 

When  Thibault  read  these  rules  his  heart 
failed  him,  and  he  placed  the  paper  in  his 
wife's  hands.  "It  shall  be  as  thou  wilt, 
Andouille.  Even  now  it  is  not  too  late. 
Speak  the  word,  and  the  knights  shall  go 
forth  without  me." 


The  Vision  of  Saint  Bernard       95 

"You  love  me  then?"  she  cried,  all  her  face 
transformed  with  sudden  joy. 

"As  I  have  always  done,  my  Andouille. 
You  shall  choose  for  us,  and  if  you  will — 
God's  death !  what  do  I  care  for  my  soul? — all 
things  shall  be  as  they  were."  He  held  her 
close,  and  the  intensity  of  his  passion  fright- 
ened her. 

"  Nay,  not  as  they  were,  not  as  they  were. 
I  care  for  your  soul,  O  my  beloved:  Bernard 
must  know  best,  and  I  give  you  to  God." 

Man -like  he  was  not  satisfied.  "Is  it  so 
easy  then  to  give  me  up  ? "  he  asked.  ' '  There 
was  a  time  when  my  love  was  more  to  you 
than  salvation.  Let  us  speak  truth  to  one 
another  now  since  these  be  last  words.  I 
heard  you,  Andouille,  praying  God  to  take 
Bernard  from  the  world,  and  you  babbled 
something  of  being  God's  instrument.  Truly 
I  thought  that  love  of  me  was  tempting  you 
to  crime.  What  miracle  has  changed  you? 
For  you  do  not  love  me  as  then  you  did." 

"Not  as  then,  but  more.  Suddenly,  in  the 
hour  of  which  you  speak,  God  let  me  see 
things  for  one  moment  clearly.  I  saw  you 
through  wine  and  wassail,  and  alas,  through 
your  passion  for  my  poor  beauty,  growing 
daily  more  into  the  likeness  of  the  beasts 


96  French  Abbeys 

which  perish,  your  brain  sodden,  your  con- 
science dulled,  willing,  in  order  to  deck  me 
with  gewgaws,  to  oppress  your  people,  and 
even  to  lead  them  to  robbery.  I  saw  that 
Bernard  had  come  as  God's  angel,  that  none 
but  he  could  save  you,  or  the  vast  multitude 
of  other  knights  who  were  leading  the  same 
lives ;  and  in  that  hour  when  I  gave  you  up, 
and  in  this  when  I  confirm  the  gift,  I  love  you 
more  than* at  my  bridal,  for  I  love  your  soul. 
Instead  of  being  a  menace  to  the  life  and  work 
of  Bernard  I  have  saved  both,  though  in  so 
doing  I  knew  what  would  come  to  pass.  You 
have  bidden  me  choose  for  us  both,  but  you 
could  not  have  loved  me  as  you  do  now  had 
I  made  the  baser  choice." 

"It  is  a  miracle,"  he  said,  "such  as  the  ap- 
pearance of  the  Madonna  to  Bernard:  for, 
unless  she  moved  you,  Andouille,  you  could 
not  speak  as  you  do  now,  nor  could  I  bear  it." 

And  a  sublime  exaltation  bore  her  up,  for 
she  heard  within  her  heart  a  still,  small  voice 
saying:  "Though  other  miracles  were  none, 
this  of  turning  a  sinner  into  a  saint  has  been 
wrought  before  thine  eyes,  and  partly  by  thy 
means, — and  this  miracle  shall  not  pass  away." 

Thibault  thought  that  he  understood  his 
wife  (but  how  can  a  man  fully  understand  a 


The  Vision  of  Saint  Bernard       97 

woman's  devotion?).  And  he  rode  away, 
knowing  that  he  should  see  his  lady's  face  no 
more  in  this  world.  As  he  followed  the  wood- 
land path  up  the  valley  of  Clairvaux  to  bid 
Bernard  farewell,  he  saw  fluttering  from  the 
topmost  branch  of  a  tree  which  sheltered  the 
cave  which  the  monk  had  made  his  hermitage 
a  filmy  veil  of  faded  saffron  gauze.  He  dis- 
engaged it  with  his  lance,  and  recognising  the 
initial  A,  wrought  in  the  border  not  with  silk 
but  with  a  thread  of  golden  hair,  he  covered 
it  with  kisses  and  wound  it  about  his  helm. 
It  caught  Bernard's  attention,  for  the  light 
shone  through  it  and  gave  it  the  appearance 
of  an  aureole. 

"God  gives  thee  the  sign  of  sainthood,  my 
son,"  said  the  mystic.  "Either  my  eyes  de- 
ceive me  or  I  see  above  thy  head  a  wreath  of 
glorious  effulgence  such  as  streamed  from  Our 
Lady's  features  when  she  granted  me  the 
vision  which  I  hold  as  seal  and  warrant  of  my 
mission.  Go  and  bear  thyself  valiantly,  for 
the  favour  of  God  is  with  thee." 

And  Thibault  received  his  blessing  kneeling. 
Nor  told  he  the  holy  man  that  the  shimmering 
radiance  was  his  wife's  veil,  nor  where  he  had 
found  it. 


CHAPTER  V 
THE  TAPESTRIES  OF  BOURGANEUF 

THE  old  Hospitaller  writes,  a.d.  1510: 
None  will  think  it  strange  that  the 
old  Commandery  of  Knights  Hospitallers  at 
Bourganeuf  should  boast  as  superb  a  series  of 
tapestries  as  ever  decked  royal  palace  or 
grand  cathedral,  for  the  manufactory  of 
Aubusson  is  close  at  hand,  a  manufactory 
owned  by  the  great  man  who  was  the  hon- 
oured head  of  our  Order  and  who  dearly  loved 
its  citadel  at  Bourganeuf. 

But  the  uninstructed  observer  who  gazes  at 
them  in  future  days  may  well  marvel  at  the 
subjects  chosen  for  these  beautiful  hangings, 
for  certes  they  are  little  suited  to  a  religious 
house.  They  depict  no  history  of  holy  writ 
nor  legend  of  saints,  no,  nor  the  glorious  ex- 
ploits of  the  great  Pierre  d' Aubusson,  nor  of  the 
Knights  Hospitallers  whom  he  led  in  so  many 

98 


I  o 


a  3 

1  < 

2  « 


The  Tapestries  of  Bourganeuf      99 

great  actions.  They  show  only  a  sweet -faced 
lady  surrounded  by  flowers  and  beasties  of 
the  wood.  I  am  an  old  man  now,  and  when 
I  am  gone  there  will  be  no  one  who  can  tell  the 
story  aright,  and  so  I  have  thought  best  to 
write  it  out  lest  fabrications  arise  discredit- 
able alike  to  our  house  and  to  the  subject  of 
these  pictures. 

Without  doubt  she  was  an  enchantress,  the 
blond  Agnes  of  Bourganeuf,  for  not  only  did 
all  men  who  knew  her  become  captive  to  her 
will,  but  animals,  who  are  less  susceptible 
than  men  to  the  charm  of  beauty,  would 
follow  her  fascinated  and  forget  while  in  her 
presence  their  savage  instincts  to  prey  upon 
one  another. 

Her  falcon  would  eat  tamely  from  her  hand, 
utterly  disregarding  the  wild  creatures,  shy 
partridges,  and  little  bunny  rabbits  which 
stole  from  their  hidden  haunts  to  frisk  about 
her.  Her  mischievous  monkey  would  cease 
his  pranks  at  a  single  rebuking  word,  and  her 
two  pet  dogs,  who  were  consumed  with  jeal- 
ousy over  her  favours,  and  who  quarrelled 
when  out  of  her  sight,  would  each  submit  in 
her  presence,  though  with  piteous  whines,  to 
seeing  the  other  fondled. 

Of  these  dogs,  Flocon  de  Neige,  the  Maltese 


ioo  French  Abbeys 

terrier,  had  been  brought  her  by  the  noble 
Pierre  d'Aubusson,  Grand  Master  of  the  Chev- 
aliers Hospitallers  de  St.  Jean  de  Jerusalem, 
on  his  last  return  to  his  native  land.  The 
Grand  Master  remembered  her  as  a  pretty 
child,  fond  of  pets,  and  he  was  surprised  to 
find  her  a  beautiful  girl  of  eighteen.  She 
cared  none  the  less  for  the  pretty  dog  be- 
cause she  had  grown  up  to  woman's  estate, 
and  she  lavished  the  most  affectionate  care 
on  the  stupid,  selfish,  and  greedy  creature, 
combing  its  tangled  mop  of  silky,  white  hair 
away  from  its  weeping  eyes,  and  allowing  it 
to  couch  on  the  most  luxurious  of  cushions 
and  even  on  the  train  of  her  velvet  robe. 

Her  other  favourite  dog  was  a  mouse- 
coloured  Persian  greyhound,  only  eighteen 
inches  high,  a  shivering,  fragile  creature  not 
made  to  support  our  vigorous  climate,  and 
cowardly  as  well  as  delicate,  but  very  intelli- 
gent and  devoted,  so  that  while  it  trembled  in 
every  limb  it  would  still  bark  violently  when- 
ever an  intruder  appeared  whom  he  thought  a 
menace  to  his  mistress.  This  dog's  name  was 
Saladin,  and  he  wore  a  golden  collar  set  with 
moonstones.  He  had  been  given  to  the  fair 
Agnes  by  the  unfortunate  Prince  Zizim — but 
of  him  more  hereafter;   suffice  it  now  to  say 


The  Tapestries  of  Bourganeuf     101 

that  the  two  dogs  divided  her  affection  as  their 
donors  did  her  admiration  and  sympathy. 

It  was  Pierre  d'Aubusson  whom  she  and  I 
most  admired  of  any  living  human  being,  and 
well  we  might,  for  never  hero  of  antiquity  or 
of  troubadour's  ballad  was  more  courageous 
and  heroic,  no,  nor  saint  nor  martyr  more 
impassioned  in  his  worship  of  his  Lord.  His 
ancestral  castle  overhung  the  Creuse,  not  far 
from  Bourganeuf,  but  nearer  the  city  of  Au- 
busson,  of  which  his  family  had  long  been 
vicomtes.  He  was  Due  de  la  Feuillade  also, 
and  Senechal  de  la  haute  et  basse  Marche,  but 
he  early  gave  up  these  worldly  honours  to  be- 
come a  Knight  Hospitaller  to  fight  the  Mus- 
sulmans, who  at  this  time  were  in  possession 
of  Jerusalem  and  had  recently  taken  Constan- 
tinople and  destroyed  the  Byzantine  Empire, 
and  who  now,  under  Mohammed  II.,  threat- 
ened to  stable  their  horses  in  the  Vatican. 

Aubusson  rose  rapidly  and  was  soon  ap- 
pointed Grand  Prior  of  Auvergne  (his  native 
province).  This  was  the  division  of  the 
Order  which  had  its  Commandery  at  Bour- 
ganeuf and  made  him  my  superior;  for  I  was 
serving  my  novitiate,  hoping  some  day  to  be 
a  Knight,  but  now  employed  in  the  script- 
orium, as  I  was  clever  with  pen  and  pencil. 


io2  French  Abbeys 

Our  Grand  Prior  was  not  often  with  us; 
he  was  ever  at  the  front  when  danger  called, 
and,  as  I  have  said,  these  were  troublous 
times.  Whenever  he  made  one  of  his  rare 
visits  to  his  Commandery  he  rode  through 
the  adjacent  park  to  the  chateau  of  his  old 
friend  the  Vicomte  de  Montchenu,  the  father 
of  the  little  Agnes,  for  it  pleased  him  to  see 
the  child  at  play  with  her  pets,  and  she  loved 
to  hear  his  stories  of  adventure  in  the  far 
East.  All  of  her  dolls  were  clothed  in  mail, 
and  wore  the  maltese  cross  upon  their  sur- 
coats.  Her  favourite  bower  was  named  Jeru- 
salem, and  all  evil  beasts, — wolves,  wild  boars, 
serpents,  and  weasels, — were  Turks. 

When  d' Aubusson  was  not  with  us  his  head- 
quarters were  at  Rhodes,  the  outpost  of 
Christianity,  the  sentinel  island  in  the  path 
of  the  conquering  Turk.  It  was  a  critical  time 
for  our  religion.  Mohammed  swept  on  vic- 
torious. Greece,  Servia,  Wallachia,  and  the 
Adriatic  Islands  surrendered  to  him.  Before 
Rhodes  alone  he  hesitated  for  a  time,  for 
d'Aubusson,  who  had  now  become  Grand 
Master  of  his  Order,  not  only  held  the  citadel 
but  swept  the  Mediterranean  with  his  galleys, 
capturing  and  sinking  Turkish  vessels.  Mo- 
hammed saw  that  it  was  a  personal  duel,  and 


The  Tapestries  of  Bourganeuf     103 

either  he  or  the  Grand  Master  must  acknow- 
ledge himself  conquered.  That  nest  of  hor- 
nets, Rhodes,  must  be  burned  out  at  any 
cost,  and  in  May,  1480,  a  Turkish  army  of  one 
hundred  thousand  men  began  its  siege.  Two 
desperate  assaults  were  made,  during  which 
the  Grand  Master  received  five  wounds,  but 
the  infidels  were  obliged  at  last  to  abandon  the 
siege,  leaving  nine  thousand  dead  before  the 
gates. 

Mohammed  understood  that  he  had  received 
his  "Thus  far  and  no  farther,"  and  his  death, 
which  occurred  in  less  than  a  year,  was  has- 
tened by  his  impotent  rage. 

Pierre  d'Aubusson  received  the  congratula- 
tions of  all  Christendom,  and  was  named  by 
the  Pope  the  Defender  of  Christianity  and  the 
Buckler  of  the  Church. 

It  was  now  that  he  returned  as  a  conquering 
hero  for  his  last  visit  to  his  home  and  to  the 
Commandery  of  Auvergne,  and  brought  Agnes 
her  lap-dog.  He  had  forgotten  how  the  pass- 
age of  a  few  years  can  change  a  child  to  a 
woman,  and  the  great  warrior  stood  abashed 
before  the  beautiful  girl.  But  she  received 
his  gift  with  charming  grace  and  named  the 
bundle  of  soft,  white  hair  Flocon  de  Neige, 
and  Flocon  and  the  Grand  Master,  looking  into 


104  French  Abbeys 

her  gentle  eyes,  were  both  from  that  moment 
her  devoted  slaves. 

The  Grand  Master  remained  longer  at 
Bourganeuf  than  on  any  previous  visit.  He 
had  much  to  do,  for  he  was  planning  wise 
ordinances  to  improve  the  organisation  of 
the  Hospitallers,  its  exterior  diplomacy,  its 
internal  rule — the  securing  of  great  men 
for  its  officers  and  the  strengthening  of  its 
finances  and  its  power.  This  was  but  the 
means  for  a  grand  end,  which  he  had  had  at 
heart  all  his  life,  the  stirring  up  of  the  Euro- 
pean powers  to  another  crusade  for  the  rescue 
to  the  Holy  Sepulchre. 

He  was  in  correspondence  with  the  German 
Emperor,  with  the  Pope,  with  the  King  of 
Hungary,  and  with  the  King  of  England. 
His  absorbing  dream,  for  which  he  had  la- 
boured night  and  day,  was  a  great  Christian 
League  to  rid  the  Holy  Land  of  the  Mussul- 
man. But  now  even  as  he  explained  it  to 
the  fair  Agnes  and  her  sensitive  mind  was 
thrilled  by  his  high  ambition,  this  dream  be- 
came vague  and  shadowy,  and  all  his  plans 
seemed  chimerical  and  the  guerdon  not  worth 
the  labour;  so  potent  even  over  a  man  past 
the  prime  of  life  is  the  fascination  of  a  woman's 
face.     So  their  mutual  influence  interacted 


The  Tapestries  of  Bourganeuf    105 

each  upon  the  other,  and  while  Agnes  lived  in 
phantasy,  longing  ever  to  help  him  organise 
the  crusade,  in  proportion  as  her  enthusiasm 
kindled  his  own  waned,  and  he  even  contem- 
plated in  his  secret  heart  retiring  from  his 
Order  and  petitioning  the  Pope  to  release  him 
from  his  vow  of  celibacy.  He  made  restora- 
tions in  his  ancient  castle,  long  uninhabited, 
and  ordered  a  new  set  of  tapestries  made  for 
its  great  hall  at  the  manufactory  of  Aubusson. 
This  manufactory  had  been  founded  years 
before  by  a  company  of  artisans  attracted  to 
Aubusson  by  the  woollen-yarn  industry,  for 
half  the  men  of  Auvergne  were  shepherds,  and 
their  wives  spun  the  wool  which  was  dyed  in 
Aubusson.  The  dyers  were  descendants  of 
certain  Saracens  who  took  refuge  in  these 
rocky  gorges  after  their  rout  by  Charles 
Martel  at  the  battle  of  Tours,  and  were  pos- 
sessed of  a  valuable  secret,  that  of  producing 
the  Tyrian  purple  and  other  colours  known 
only  to  the  rug-makers  of  the  Orient. 

Pierre  d' Aubusson  interested  himself  in  the 
tapestry  works  of  his  native  town  and  detailed 
me,  who  had  hitherto  devoted  myself  to  the 
illumination  of  missals,  to  make  the  designs 
for  the  tapestries.  Instead  of  desiring  me  to 
celebrate  his  own  glorious  deeds  at  Rhodes 


106  French  Abbeys 

he  bade  me  depict  the  fair  Agnes  engaged  in 
her  favourite  occupations,  playing  the  organ, 
training  her  falcon,  walking  in  the  park,  and 
surrounded  always  by  her  little  friends  the 
beasties  of  the  wood. 

It  was  necessary  in  order  that  I  should  have 
opportunity  to  study  my  subject,  that  Agnes 
should  sit  for  my  sketches,  but  she  had  no 
voice  in  gainsaying  or  permitting,  for  d'Au- 
busson  had  her  father's  consent.  He  was  a 
shrewd  man  who  divined  what  thoughts  were 
fermenting  in  the  mind  of  the  Grand  Master. 

He  gave  me  very  few  limitations  or  sugges- 
tions other  than  that  each  of  the  tapestries 
should  display,  as  heraldic  supporters,  his 
own  emblem,  a  buisson,  or  thicket  of  thorny 
holly,  and  a  blossoming  orange  tree  typical  of 
the  fair  Agnes,  connected  by  his  own  motto, 
"Inter  spinas  -floret"  ("I  blossom  among 
thorns").  The  naturalistic  picture  of  Agnes 
and  her  pets  was  also  in  each  case  to  be 
framed  by  heraldic  beasts  from  their  respec- 
tive crests  used  as  supporters — his  great  lion 
and  her  white  unicorn,  a  fabulous  beast,  the 
emblem  of  purity. 

" These  creatures  shall  hold  standards,"  he 
explained,  "from  which  shall  float  long  band- 
eroles to  be  embroidered  after  the  tapestries 


The  Tapestries  of  Bourganeuf    107 

are  finished  with  whatever  device  the  fair 
Agnes  shall  herself  designate,  for,  though  she 
is  ignorant  of  my  intention,  I  plan  that  the 
tapestries  shall  be  my  gift  to  her  upon  her 
wedding  day." 

It  was  while  the  private  affairs  of  d'Au- 
busson  were  in  this  state,  that  an  event  oc- 
curred at  Rhodes  which  made  necessary  the 
presence  of  the  Grand  Master,  and  he  most 
unwillingly  hastened  away.  The  Sultan  Mo- 
hammed in  dying  had  left  his  kingdom  di- 
vided by  the  rival  pretensions  of  his  two  sons, 
Bajazet  and  Djim,  or  as  our  French  chronicles 
designate  the  younger,  Zizim. 

Bajazet  had  the  support  of  the  Janizaries, 
and  had  been  acknowledged  Sultan  at  Con- 
stantinople, but  Zizim,  who  was  the  son  of  an 
ambitious  Turcoman  Princess,  gathered  to- 
gether the  wild  hordes  of  Asia  and  attacked 
his  brother  in  several  unsuccessful  battles. 
After  many  hairbreadth  escapes  he  had  ac- 
tually sought  an  asylum  at  Rhodes — promis- 
ing the  Hospitallers  many  favours,  such  as 
permission  of  pilgrimage  to  Jerusalem  and  the 
release  of  any  of  their  Order  who  were  prison- 
ers, if  they  would  sustain  his  cause. 

Pierre  d'Aubusson  saw  at  once  what  a 
valuable  ally  Zizim  might  be  made,  and  only 


108  French  Abbeys 

paused  at  Rome  for  a  conference  with  the 
Pope  in  regard  to  his  cherished  plan  of  a  cru- 
sade, in  his  hurried  return  to  Rhodes.  This 
conference,  however,  opened  his  eyes  to  the 
real  character  of  Alexander  Borgia,  than 
whom  no  greater  monster  of  iniquity  ever 
lived.  The  Pope  admitted  that  he  was  in 
correspondence  with  Bajazet,  who  was  willing 
to  pay  an  immense  annual  stipend  if  he  would 
either  kill  his  brother  Zizim  or  keep  him  out 
of  the  Orient. 

The  scheme  of  the  Universal  League  of  all 
Christendom  for  the  conducting  of  a  crusade 
did  not  in  the  least  appeal  to  the  Pope,  and 
dAubusson  saw  that  he  could  count  on  no 
encouragement  from  him.  He  also  under- 
stood that  His  Holiness  (in  this  case  most 
falsely  so  named)  would,  if  possible,  compass 
the  death  of  poor  Zizim,  and  all  the  Grand 
Master's  instincts  of  honour  and  hospitality 
bade  him  protect  the  guest  who  had  trusted 
himself  in  his  power. 

At  Rhodes  he  found  the  young  Moham- 
medan Prince  full  of  delusions  of  what  he 
might  accomplish  if  only  the  Chevaliers  of 
the  Hospital  would  aid  him,  but  not  yet  so 
crushed  in  spirit  as  to  be  willing  to  grant  what 
dAubusson  demanded — the  withdrawal  of  all 


The  Tapestries  of  Bourganeuf    109 

Mohammedans  and  the  re -establishment  of  a 
Christian  kingdom  in  Jerusalem.  Anything 
but  that.  Pilgrims  might  safely  go  and 
come  and  visit  the  Holy  Sepulchre,  but  d'Au- 
busson  must  understand  that  Jerusalem  was 
also  to  the  Mohammedan  a  sacred  city,  that 
the  Mosque  of  Omar,  erected  on  the  site  of 
Solomon's  Temple,  was  for  them  a  shrine  of 
pilgrimage  second  only  to  Mecca.  If  the 
Hospitallers  would  help  him,  well  and  good. 
If  not,  he  demanded  haughtily  to  be  escorted 
to  the  King  of  Hungary,  who  would  be  glad 
of  a  league  with  the  Turcomans  to  keep  the  Ot- 
toman Turks  from  encroaching  on  his  empire. 

While  these  interviews  were  being  held 
with  Zizim,  d'Aubusson  received  a  communi- 
cation from  the  Pope  informing  him  that 
Bajazet  was  about  to  collect  all  his  forces  and 
lay  siege  to  Rhodes  to  obtain  possession  of 
his  brother,  and  that  the  Pope,  desirous  of 
preserving  peace  and  not  meddling  with 
quarrels  which  did  not  concern  him,  com- 
manded the  Grand  Master  to  deliver  over 
Zizim  to  his  brother's  emissaries. 

D'Aubusson  saw  that  Bajazet  had  finally 
offered  Borgia  a  sufficient  bribe,  and  that 
between  the  two  he  could  no  longer  keep 
Zizim  in  safety  at  Rhodes.     He  accordingly 


no  French  Abbeys 

resolved  to  despatch  him  to  a  place  of  safety 
at  a  sufficient  distance  from  both  Bajazet 
and  the  Pope,  the  Commandery  of  Auvergne, 
where,  under  his  trusty  Knights  Hospitallers, 
he  could  be  guarded  in  secret  until  he  could 
bring  him  forward  to  aid  in  his  cherished 
crusade. 

In  carrying  out  this  scheme  he  employed 
more  ruse  than  could  have  been  antici- 
pated from  a  man  of  his  character.  He 
feigned  to  accede  to  Zizim's  request  to  be 
conducted  to  the  King  of  Hungary,  and  sent 
him  away  under  the  escort  of  a  troop  of 
knights  whose  commander  had  sealed  orders 
to  take  the  way  to  Auvergne  at  the  parting 
of  the  two  routes.  He  was  able  to  make  the 
Pope  believe  for  a  time  that  Zizim  had  set  out 
before  the  receipt  of  the  papal  orders  but 
would  undoubtedly  be  captured  by  his  brother, 
and  Bajazet  himself  sent  an  army  to  scour 
the  roads  to  Hungary. 

To  Agnes  he  wrote  of  the  coming  of  this 
prisoner  guest,  begging  her  to  entertain  him, 
for  he  had  commanded  that  such  liberties 
should  be  granted  him  as  were  compatible 
with  his  safe-keeping,  and  to  persuade  him  if 
possible  to  consent  to  d'Aubusson's  terms  for 
his  liberation. 


PIERRE    D'AUBUSSON. 


THE  TOWER  OF  ZIZIM. 


The  Tapestries  of  Bourganeuf    1 1 1 

No  request  could  have  given  her  greater 
pleasure.  To  aid  d'Aubusson  in  organising 
a  crusade  h  id  become  the  absorbing  passion 
of  her  life.  Her  father  presently  visited 
Zizim  and  brought  him  an  invitation  to  hunt 
in  his  park  and  to  take  refreshment  at  his 
castle.  Certain  knights  were  always  told  off 
to  accompany  him  upon  the  hunt,  to  guard 
against  his  escape,  but  frequently  they  left 
him  at  the  gate  of  the  chateau  where  I  was 
making  the  preparatory  studies  for  the  tapes- 
try designs,  and  had  also  orders  from  the  sub- 
prior  to  hold  our  prisoner  in  strict  surveillance. 

The  Prince  was  young  and  strikingly 
handsome,  of  aristocratic  manners  and  a  cul- 
tivated mind.  He  spoke  half  a  dozen  lan- 
guages fluently,  and  his  French  had  only  a 
slight  accent  which  rendered  it  all  the  more 
fascinating.  He  was  a  poet  not  only  in  his 
native  tongue,  but  could  handle  all  the  difficult 
metres  of  our  troubadours,  and  was  no  mean 
musician  as  well. 

He  was  impressed  at  once  by  the  loveliness 
of  the  fair  Agnes,  but  his  dark  eyes  could 
shoot  fire  as  well  as  languish,  and  his  melan- 
choly smile  changed  ever  to  a  sinister  sneer 
on  the  mention  of  the  name  of  Pierre  d'Au- 
busson.    He  believed  the  Grand  Master  to  be 


1 1 2  French  Abbeys 

his  mortal  enemy,  and  could  not  forgive  him 
that  he  had  convoyed  him  through  deception 
and  force  to  this  distant  prison. 

Agnes  soon  saw  that  it  would  be  a  difficult, 
perhaps  an  impossible,  task  to  make  him 
listen  to  any  terms  proposed  by  her  friend. 
The  more  she  praised  d'Aubusson  the  more 
the  prince  sulked,  for,  while  he  was  fast  be- 
coming enamoured  of  the  Lady  Agnes,  the 
further  he  progressed  upon  that  road,  the 
more  he  hated  the  Grand  Master,  whom  he 
fancied  his  rival. 

He  wrote  triolets  in  her  honour  and  sang 
them  to  his  own  accompaniment  upon  the 
lute,  and  was  never  tired  of  watching  her  feed 
and 'train  her  pets,  giving  her  his  own  little 
greyhound,  Saladin,  which  he  had  brought 
with  him  from  Persia.  I  remember  how 
beautifully  she  was  gowned  at  their  first  meet- 
ing, for  I  painted  the  dress,  a  violet  velvet 
embroidered  in  lighter  shades  of  mauve  and 
faced  with  cloth  of  gold.  A  heavy  chain  of 
gold  was  roped  about  her  shoulders.  The 
corsage  of  the  dress  was  cut  square,  but  her 
neck  was  covered  with  an  elaborate  necklace 
of  amethysts,  and  she  wore  a  band  of  ame- 
thysts coronet-wise  about  her  hair  from 
which  depended  a  veil  broidered  with  pearls. 


The  Tapestries  of  Bourganeuf    113 

Zizim  saw  that  she  was  fond  of  gems,  and  he 
sent  her  an  aigrette  of  white  herons'  plumes 
set  with  diamonds.  The  Lady  Agnes  said  it 
was  like  a  fountain,  and  she  wore  it  at  his 
next  visit  in  her  hair.  I  remember  that  on 
that  day  her  dress  was  of  green  brocade  with 
long  velvet  sleeves,  and  that  she  had  her 
organ  carried  into  the  garden  and  played  upon 
it  like  another  Saint  Cecilia,  while  her  maid 
Amore  worked  the  bellows.  It  was  a  charm- 
ing spot,  this  garden,  carpeted  thick  and  soft 
with  violets  and  pink-fingered  daisies  and 
primroses,  and  the  birds  sang  in  the  holly 
thickets  as  though  to  drown  her  playing,  and 
the  little  beasties  crept  nearer,  fascinated  by 
her  singing. 

The  Prince's  passion  grew  apace  and  there 
came  a  day  when  he  could  refuse  her  nothing. 
Jerusalem  should  acknowledge  the  claim  of 
the  King  of  France  as  its  sovereign.  If  only 
Agnes  would  act  as  the  French  King's  deputy 
in  the  Holy  City  and  become  Zizim's  Queen 
Consort,  his  only  wife  and  Sultana,  he  would 
submit  to  the  Grand  Master's  hard  conditions, 
and  they  would  betake  themselves  to  Jeru- 
salem together,  she  to  worship  with  her  fellow- 
Christians  at  the  Sepulchre,  he  at  the  Temple, 
the  same  God  under  different  names. 


ii4  French  Abbeys 

To  do  her  justice,  Agnes  had  never  thought 
of  this  outcome  of  her  mediation  as  possible. 
Her  nature  was  too  pure  for  coquetry  or  pas- 
sion, and  all  the  love  of  which  she  was  capable, 
a  mystical,  unworldly  hero-worship,  was  given 
to  dAubusson.  She  was  frightened  by  the 
vehemence  of  her  lover  and  for  several  days 
denied  him  her  presence,  while  she  pondered 
on  the  strangeness  of  the  situation.  Was  she 
capable  of  making  this  sacrifice  for  d'Aubus- 
son's  sake?  If  he  were  only  at  Bourganeuf 
to  give  the  decisive  word  in  this  great  crisis  of 
her  life!  And  the  word  came  in  a  letter 
brought  from  the  Grand  Master  by  a  returning 
Hospitaller.  It  was  a  very  surprising  letter 
to  the  Lady  Agnes,  and  it  wrought  a  very 
different  effect  from  that  which  the  writer 
desired — for  dAubusson  wrote  that  in  deep 
discouragement  over  the  lack  of  interest  of 
the  Pope  and  of  the  King  of  France  in  the 
crusade,  as  well  as  on  account  of  Zizim's  ob- 
duracy in  refusing  to  rally  his  followers  in 
Palestine,  he  was  on  the  point  of  giving  up  the 
enterprise,  and  of  retiring  a  disappointed  man 
from  the  Order  of  Knights  Hospitallers.  It 
remained  for  her  to  give  the  casting  vote,  for 
if  she  would  accept  the  love  of  a  man  twice  her 
own  age,  a  love  which  had  grown  since  her 


THE  TONES  OF  THE  ORGAN  CHARMED  THE  BEASTIES  OF  THE  WOOD." 
By  permission  of  Paul  Robert. 


The  Tapestries  of  Bourganeuf     115 

earliest  infancy,  he  would  count  all  other  glory 
well  lost  and  would  demand  the  absolution  of 
his  vow  of  celibacy  and  devote  the  remainder 
of  his  life  to  her,  and  her  alone. 

The  fair  Agnes  was  as  startled  by  this 
revelation  of  the  love  of  the  Grand  Master  as 
she  had  been  by  that  of  the  young  Prince. 
She  had  not  imagined  her  hero  subject  to  the 
ordinary  frailties  of  human  nature,  but  be- 
lieved him  a  demigod  or  saint.  She  now 
blamed  herself  for  unwittingly  tempting  him 
from  the  path  of  duty,  for  lighting  this  pas- 
sion, which  had  burned  in  concealment  for  so 
many  years,  and  was  now  breaking  out  to 
wreck  his  high  career  and  brand  him  in  his- 
tory as  renegade  to  his  vows. 

It  must  not  be.  She  would  save  him  from 
this  unworthy  act,  even  at  the  expense  of  her 
own  immolation.  Her  father  had  recently 
died,  leaving  her  mistress  of  her  own  actions 
and  of  a  considerable,  fortune.  She  imme- 
diately wrote  d'Aubusson  humbly  but  firmly 
declining  his  proposals,  and  informed  him  in 
the  same  letter  of  her  betrothal  to  Prince 
Zizim,  who  had  consented  to  his  terms  and 
would  ally  his  adherents  to  the  Hospitallers  if 
permitted  to  return  to  the  Holy  Land.  She 
added  that  she  was  about  to  pay  a  visit  to  the 


n6  French  Abbeys 

French  Court  and  hoped  to  influence  the 
King  to  take  the  cross. 

Good  King  Rene,  titular  King  of  Naples, 
Sicily,  and  Jerusalem,  had  recently  died  in 
Provence  without  male  heirs,  and  the  terri- 
torial rights  of  the  House  of  Anjou  had  lapsed 
to  the  King  of  France,  the  young  Charles  VIII. 
He  was  a  weak  prince,  but  he  had  married 
Anne  de  Bretagne,  a  princess  of  great  religious 
zeal  as  well  as  of  ambition  and  spirit.  The 
Lady  Agnes  was  not  over-sanguine  in  her 
hope  that  the  Queen  would  influence  her 
doting  husband  to  undertake  this  quest,  so 
much  to  his  worldly  as  well  as  to  his  spiritual 
advantage. 

The  brave  lady  at  once  repaired  to  the 
Court  at  Amboise,  making  her  camp  each 
night  in  a  magnificent  pavilion  of  cloth  of 
gold,  which  she  had  prepared  for  her  wedding 
journey  with  the  crusading  army.  Prince 
Zizim  had  sent  her  a  casket  of  jewels  as  his 
betrothal  gift,  and  she  would  have  me  paint 
her  standing  in  the  door  of  her  pavilion  re- 
ceiving this  offering.  It  was  the  last  of  my 
designs  for  the  series  of  tapestries.  The 
Grand  Master  had  written  her  that  he  had  all 
along  purposed  these  tapestries  as  his  wedding 
present  to  her;    and  I  told  her  how  he  had 


The  Tapestries  of  Bourganeuf     117 

ordained  that  she  should  choose  the  device 
to  be  wrought  upon  the  banners  borne  by  the 
heraldic  lion  and  unicorn.  He  had  hoped, 
doubtless,  that  she  would  choose  his  ' '  buisson 
of  holly,"  but  she  elected  instead  for  Zizim's 
coat  of  arms  three  golden  crescents  upon  a 
vermilion  field,  and  the  tapestries  were  so 
woven  at  the  Grand  Master's  manufactory  at 
Aubusson.  They  were  afterward  hung  upon 
the  walls  of  her  castle  at  Bourganeuf,  where 
she  lived  for  many  years  beloved  and  pitied 
by  all  and,  dying,  she  left  them  to  the  Com- 
mandery,  where  doubtless  in  future  days 
people  will  wonder  at  them  if  so  be  this  writ- 
ing is  lost.  She  was  never  wedded,  either 
to  Pierre  d' Aubusson  or  to  Prince  Zizim,  for 
while  she  was  at  Amboise — where  she  suc- 
ceeded in  firing  the  enthusiasm  of  Anne  de 
Bretagne  and  through  her  of  King  Charles — 
there  arrived  at  Bourganeuf  a  legate  from 
Pope  Alexander  Borgia  who  demanded  of  the 
sub-prior  of  the  Commandery  the  person  of 
Prince  Zizim;  and  the  sub-prior,  having  less 
reason  than  d' Aubusson  to  suspect  the  mo- 
tives of  His  Holiness  the  Pope,  or  less  courage 
to  withstand  his  authority,  delivered  up  that 
unfortunate  young  man,  sending  him  to  Rome 
under  an  escort  of  knights. 


n8  French  Abbeys 

Great  was  the  grief,  consternation,  and 
anger,  not  alone  of  the  fair  Agnes  and  of 
Pierre  d'Aubusson,  but  of  King  Charles  as 
well.  That  young  monarch  showed  more 
spirit  than  had  been  expected  of  him,  for  he 
saw  through  the  perfidy  of  the  Pope,  who  was 
also  in  league  with  the  Spanish  pretender  to 
the  throne  of  Naples,  and  Charles  straightway 
gathered  together  his  army  and  cavalcaded 
through  Italy,  taking  Naples  very  easily,  and, 
from  that  city,  dictating  terms  to  the  Holy 
Father. 

Alexander  dared  not  refuse  the  King's  de- 
mand that  Zizim  should  be  given  up  to  him, 
for  had  he  done  so  Charles  would  not  have 
hesitated  to  batter  down  the  Vatican  about 
his  ears;  but  the  Sultan  Bajazet  had  prom- 
ised to  do  the  same  thing  if  he  set  his  brother 
at  liberty,  a  sore  dilemma  one  might  have 
thought  for  the  Pope,  though  His  Holiness 
was  clever  enough  to  satisfy  both  the  de- 
mands of  the  King  of  France  and  of  the 
Sultan.  Zizim  was  delivered  to  Charles,  but 
in  a  dying  condition.  Those  who  carried 
his  litter  brought  it  to  the  pavilion  of  his 
loved  lady,  who  had  followed  the  King  to 
Italy  to  meet  her  bridegroom.  He  laid  his 
head    upon   her    bosom    and    died — for    the 


The  Tapestries  of  Bourganeuf    119 

stirrup-cup  which  the  Pope  had  given  had 
been  charged  with  the  poison  of  the  Borgias, 
for  which  no  leech  in  Christendom,  no,  nor  the 
Borgias  themselves,  knew  any  remedy. 

Of  the  Grand  Master  of  our  Order  all  the 
world  knows  how  he  persisted  in  his  great 
enterprise,  but  failed  through  dissensions 
among  his  followers,  and  that  he  died  at  last 
at  Rhodes — of  a  broken  heart,  as  it  was  said, 
because  of  that  failure,  but  only  I  who  brought 
him  the  news  that  the  Lady  Agnes  had  died 
before  him  knew  that  he  murmured: 

"She  will  reconsider  her  choice  when  she 
chooses  between  us  again — in  Paradise." 

(See  Note  A.) 


CHAPTER  VI 

INTRA  MUROS 
OR,  THE  STORY  OF  A  RED  BOX 

FOREWORD 

STRONGEST  of  fortresses,   most  militant 
in  aspect  of  all  the  cities  of  France,  is 
the  ancient  town  of  Carcassonne. 

Thanks  to  the  restoration  of  Viollet  le  Due, 
we  see  it  to-day  as  it  existed  in  mediaeval 
times.  Its  very  site,  a  promontory  rising 
abruptly  from  the  plain,  is  a  natural  strong- 
hold, and  its  double  row  of  encircling  walls 
sentinelled  by  forty-eight  towers  give  the  im- 
pression that  all  the  castles  of  France  have 
made  it  their  rendezvous,  trundling  into 
Languedoc  and  forming  about  the  citadel 
in  hollow  square  to  guard  it  from  attack. 
Only  to  treachery  or  starvation  have  those 
impregnable  defences  surrendered.    Strong  to 

1 20 


WALLS  OF  CARCASSONNE. 
By  permission  of  Neurdein  Freres. 


The  Red  Box  121 

repel  and  strong  to  hold,  the  massive  walls 
could  fold  their  citizens  in  safe  embrace  and 
could  be  cruel  beyond  belief,  for  they  formed 
at  their  strongest  angle  the  prisons  of  the  In- 
quisition. Terrible  tragedies  have  been  en- 
acted within  their  dungeons,  crimes  proved 
by  the  evidence  of  charred  bones,  heavy 
manacles,  frightful  oubliettes,  and  ghastly  in- 
struments of  torture,  and  still  more  conclu- 
sively by  the  records  of  the  tribunal  itself. 
But  of  all  the  lingering  agonies  devised  with 
such  inhuman  ingenuity  there  is  none  so 
fiendishly  cruel  as  that  hinted  at  by  certain 
niches  or  alcoves  in  the  thickness  of  these 
cyclopean  walls,  which  tell  of  death  by  em- 
murement  or  walling  up  alive;  and  that  this 
was  a  common  punishment  the  number  of 
these  living  tombs  still  testify. 

But  there  were  high  lights  in  contrast  to 
the  darkest  darks  even  in  this  gloomy  picture. 
It  has  been  the  error  of  Protestants  to  believe 
that  Roman  Catholics  universally  endorsed 
the  atrocities  of  the  Inquisition,  that  heretics 
were  invariably  martyrs  and  Romanists 
always  cruel.     We  cry  too  thoughtlessly: 

"  Oh,  ay,  the  Monks,  the  Monks,  they  did  the  mischief; 
Theirs  all  the  grossness,  all  the  superstition 
Of  a  most  gross  and  superstitious  age. 


122  French  Abbeys 

May  He  be  praised  that  sent  the  healthful  tempest 
And  scattered  all  these  pestilential  vapours." 

The  true  story,  too  little  known,  of  Bernard 
Delicieux,  a  fervently  orthodox  Franciscan 
monk,  who  fought  a  fight,  in  which  he  had 
nothing  to  gain  and  all  to  lose,  simply  for  the 
love  of  humanity,  may  convince  us  that  in 
any  contest  the  heroes  are  not  all  upon  one 
side. 

THE  RED  BOX 

I 

IN  WHICH  THE  RED  BOX  MAKES  ITS  APPEARANCE 

Early  in  the  spring  of  the  year  1302  an 
itinerant  merchant  in  Oriental  garb  climbed 
with  his  pack-mules  the  steep  streets  of  Albi. 
He  had  perfumes  from  Constantinople,  with 
silks  and  goldsmithery  of  Italy,  and  other 
novelties  to  tempt  the  ladies,  and  trinkets 
not  alone  for  them,  but  damascened  weapons 
and  tobacco  for  the  men;  and  wise  in  his 
generation  the  pedlar  made  straight  for  the 
episcopal  palace  to  tender  the  first  choice  of 
his  wares  to  Monseigneur  the  Bishop  of  Albi. 

This  dignitary  was  notorious  for  his  world- 
liness  and  love  of  luxury,  but  he  was  also 
miserly,  and  he  haggled  over  the  prices  of  the 


The  Red  Box  123 

commodities  which  his  soul  coveted.  His 
eyes,  half  closed  by  heavy  lids  and  protuberant 
cheeks,  rested  greedily  on  the  contents  of  a 
red  lacquer  box, — a  rope  of  pearls  of  unusual 
size  and  beauty. 

"Your  demands  are  most  extortionate," 
said  the  Bishop,  as  his  fingers  caressed  the 
lustrous,  perfect  spheres  with  more  of  devo- 
tion than  they  had  ever  touched  the  beads 
of  a  rosary.  "None  but  a  thievish  Jew  would 
ask  so  unchristian  a  price." 

The  Inquisitor  for  Languedoc,  Foulques  de 
Saint  Georges,  who  was  visiting  Albi  on  busi- 
ness connected  with  the  Holy  Office,  pricked 
his  ear  at  the  word  Jew,  and  looked  up  from 
the  lists  of  suspected  persons  which  had  been 
given  him  by  the  Bishop. 

"I  am  no  Hebrew,"  replied  the  merchant; 
"I  hate  the  race  of  Israel  as  do  the  Christians, 
and  I  come  to  your  country  under  the  safe- 
guard of  your  Pope." 

"Let  me  see  your  credentials,"  commanded 
the  Inquisitor,  but  he  returned  them  with  a 
scowl.  "They  are  genuine,  the  man  is  duly 
accredited.  I  know  the  signature  of  the 
secretary  of  His  Holiness." 

"In  that  case  you  are  free  to  go  as  you 
came,"  said  the  Bishop;  "but  you  may  carry 


124  French  Abbeys 

your  pearls  with  you,  and  you  need  not  return 
unless  you  abate  your  price." 

"One  moment,  your  Grace.  The  casket 
contains  other  small  matters  which  may  in- 
terest your  lordship.  See,  it  has  a  false  bot- 
tom," and  tossing  the  pearls  carelessly  aside, 
the  merchant  showed  a  layer  of  bon-bons 
fitted  snugly  beneath  a  slide. 

' '  What  child's  play  is  this  ? ' '  asked  Foulques 
de  Saint  Georges,  who  had  not  returned  to  his 
study  of  the  lists. 

"They  be  tablets  of  bitter  almonds,"  re- 
plied the  pedlar  steadily.  "If  your  lordship 
will  try  the  efficacy  of  but  one,  you  will  not 
complain  of  their  insignificance,  for  the 
paralysis  which  will  instantly  seize  your 
eloquency's  tongue  will  in  two  minutes  more 
still  your  beneficent  heart." 

The  florid  face  of  the  Bishop  turned  to  the 
colour  of  lead,  but  Foulques  de  Saint  Georges 
exclaimed  cheerfully,  "Your  little  comfits  in- 
terest me ;  what  is  their  price  apart  from  the 
bauble  pearls?" 

"They  are  inseparable,  your  worship.  I 
cannot  sell  one  without  the  other." 

"Then  get  you  gone,"  commanded  the 
Bishop,  "for  I  wish  none  of  that  deviltry." 

The  merchant  bowed  and  took  his  leave. 


The  Red  Box  125 

"He  will  come  again,"  chuckled  the  prelate, 
"for  there  is  no  one  in  Albi  who  will  pay  his 
price.  What  were  you  asking  me  when  he 
interrupted  us  ?  The  Garcias  ?  Yes,  they  are 
very  rich.  There  are  but  the  two  brothers, 
and  they  are  my  next  neighbours.  Their 
family  have  lived  in  yonder  old  palace  of  the 
Viscounts  ever  since  the  first  of  the  name 
came  hither  from  Spain.  They  are  good 
Catholics,  more  is  the  pity,  for  their  estate 
would  enlarge  my  own  very  prettily. 

"The  elder,  Raymond,  I  am  to  marry  to- 
morrow, to  the  prettiest  girl  in  all  Albi.  'T  is 
a  sweet  youth,  Raymond,  and  a  generous;  he 
has  sent  me  a  noble  wedding-fee.  'T  is  a  pity 
that  his  brother  Arnauld  will  not  see  the  cere- 
mony. He  left  Albi  suddenly;  some  say  he 
desired  the  girl  himself,  and  could  not  bear  to 
see  her  given  to  his  brother,  dearly  though  he 
loves  him.  'Twaddle'  did  you  say?  Pray 
what  do  you  know  about  it?" 

"More  than  your  Grace,  apparently," 
Foulques  replied.  "I  have  private  informa- 
tion from  the  King's  confessor  that  Arnauld 
Garcia  is  in  Paris  intriguing  with  his  Majesty 
for  my  ruin.  See,  I  have  marked  his  name 
with  red.  It  matters  not  that  he  is  not  now 
in  Albi.     I  will  give  him  more  rope  that  he 


126  French  Abbeys 

may  hang  himself.  My  friend  writes  that  I 
must  be  wary,  for  he  is  thick  with  the  King, 
who  will  protect  him ;  but  I  can  torture  him 
through  his  brother,  and  drive  him  to  commit 
rash  acts,  and  meantime  can  assure  your 
Grace  that  the  finest  pearls  in  Languedoc  will 
be  in  your  possession  on  the  morrow." 

Foulques  de  Saint  Georges  took  a  strange 
way  to  bring  about  his  prediction,  for  he  went 
immediately  from  the  Bishop's  residence  to 
the  inn,  and  finding  there  the  Oriental,  ad- 
vised him  to  offer  the  red  box  and  its  contents 
to  Raymond  Garcia. 

"The  man  is  to  be  married  to-morrow,"  he 
explained;  "he  is  very  rich,  and  insane  with 
love;  he  will  stick  at  no  price." 

The  merchant  returned  shortly  to  thank 
him. 

"Did  you  explain  to  him  the  properties  of 
the  spiced  comfits?"  asked  Inquisitor  Foul- 
ques, his  eyes  shining  with  satisfaction. 

"Yes,  your  lordship,  but  the  man  would 
none  of  them,  calling  them  devil's  dirt." 

1 '  Then  they  are  left  on  your  hands  ? ' '  mused 
the  Inquisitor,  his  expression  of  pleasure 
changing  to  one  of  anger. 

"Yes,  your  worship,  unless  you  will  take 
them." 


The  Red  Box  127 

"That  I  will,  rascal;  know  you  not  that  it 
is  against  the  law  to  vend  poisons  thus  ?  Give 
me  the  bon-bons  and  get  you  gone,  thanking 
your  stars  that  you  have  saved  yourself  so 
easily." 

The  pedlar  made  haste  to  follow  the  advice 
thus  given;  and  now  the  Inquisitor  retraced 
his  steps  to  the  Bishop's  palace,  for  he  was  to 
dine  with  the  prelate. 

At  table  Foulques  de  Saint  Georges  casually 
mentioned  his  meeting  with  the  merchant  and 
reported  the  purchase  of  the  pearls  by  the 
expectant  bridegroom,  but  he  said  nothing  of 
the  little  transaction  concerning  the  comfits 
of  bitter  almonds. 

The  Bishop  was  inconsolable.  "Why  did 
I  not  buy  those  pearls ! "  he  cried.  * '  After  all, 
the  price  was  not  extortionate." 

"I  see  no  occasion  for  such  immoderate 
grief,"  replied  the  Inquisitor.  "Raymond 
Garcia  will  gladly  relinquish  them  when  he 
knows  that  they  are  desired  by  so  eminent  and 
powerful  a  personage  as  the  Bishop  of  Albi." 

"I  doubt  it,"  replied  the  Bishop.  "Ray- 
mond hath  bought  them  for  his  bride,  and  he 
will  not  give  them  up." 

"Why  ask  his  consent,  when  it  is  in  your 
power  to  seize  them?" 


128  French  Abbeys 

"You  mean  that  I  may  demand  the  red 
box  on  the  pretext  that  we  know  that  Garcia 
has  hidden  poison  therein?  The  circum- 
stantial evidence  will  be  irrefutable." 

"I  had  thought  of  that,"  replied  the  In- 
quisitor, and  his  hand  caressed  softly  the 
packet  of  bon-bons  in  his  bosom.  "But 
Raymond  Garcia  may  have  removed  the 
comfits." 

"No  matter,  I  can  still  swear  that  I  saw 
them  there ;  and  the  merchant  can  be  found, 
who  will  add  his  testimony." 

"Yours  is  sufficient,"  replied  Foulques  de 
Saint  Georges  hastily.  "Yours  and  mine. 
Besides  this  matter  of  the  poison  is  really 
only  a  minor  detail.  Heresy,  heresy  is  the 
crime  which  will  put  him  most  surely  in  our 
power." 

"But  I  have  told  you  that  Raymond  Garcia 
is  no  heretic." 

"My  dear  friend,"  said  the  Inquisitor, 
"have  you  forgotten  that  half  of  the  pro- 
perty of  condemned  heretics  reverts  to  their 
bishop  ?  I  congratulate  your  Grace  that  you 
can  soon  enlarge  your  gardens,  and  that  when 
you  itemise  your  schedule  of  this  heretic's  for- 
feited goods  you  may  head  your  share  with 
the  Red  Box." 


The  Red  Box  129 

II 

IN  WHICH  THE  RED  BOX  BECOMES  THE  CENTRE  OF 
COMPLICATIONS 

Raymond  Garcia  passed  the  eve  of  his 
wedding  day  with  his  betrothed,  and  twined 
the  rope  of  pearls  about  her  slender  throat, 
not  choosing  to  mar  her  pleasure  in  them  by 
telling  her,  as  he  had  learned  from  the  mer- 
chant, that  to  possess  them  he  had  outbid 
the  Bishop  of  Albi.  For  Felicie's  woman's 
heart  would  have  conjured  visions  of  thwarted 
greed  and  rancour  which  seemed  absurd  to 
his  intrepid  mind. 

She  was  instinctively  as  apprehensive  of 
danger  as  a  fawn,  and  had  the  same  startled 
eyes  and  sensitive,  quivering  nostrils,  which 
Raymond  mirthfully  said  seemed  to  scent 
alarm  in  every  footfall.  Felicie  de  Lavaur 
had  good  excuse  for  her  timidity.  West  of 
Albi  on  the  way  to  Toulouse  may  still  be  seen 
the  blackened  ruins  of  the  castle  of  her  an- 
cestors, sacked  a  century  before  the  date  of 
our  story  by  the  terrible  Simon  de  Montfort 
during  the  crusade  against  the  Albigenses. 

Its  lord  with  other  noblemen  who  defended  it 
were  on  its  surrender  massacred  in  cold  blood, 
the  peasants  who  had  taken  refuge  within  its 


130  French  Abbeys 

walls  were  burned  alive,  and  its  lady  had  been 
thrown  into  the  castle-well  and  her  life  crushed 
out  with  stones.     (See  Note  A.) 

This  had  happened  long  ago,  when  Felicie's 
grandfather  was  a  child;  but  hidden  in  an 
outbuilding  he  had  witnessed  it  all,  and  al- 
though he  lived  to  old  age  it  was  in  a  half- 
crazed  condition. 

All  of  his  children  and  grandchildren  were 
cowards.  It  was  not  their  fault,  but  an  ab- 
normal condition  of  their  brain  cells  which 
must  repeat  itself  through  many  generations. 

Felicie  was  trembling  now  for  her  beloved 
on  account  of  the  rash  conduct  of  his  younger 
brother  Arnauld  Garcia.  Certain  good  Christ- 
ians of  Albi  had  lately  been  haled  before  the 
tribunal  of  the  Inquisition,  and  Arnauld,  a 
young  doctor  of  laws,  but  learned  beyond  his 
years,  had  gone  to  Paris  with  a  deputation 
from  other  towns  of  Languedoc,  which  had 
suffered  in  like  manner,  to  plead  their  cause 
before  the  King. 

Even  while  Raymond  was  quieting  her  fears 
concerning  him  there  came  a  knocking  at  the 
barred  gate,  and  Arnauld  himself,  who  had 
but  just  arrived,  intruded  upon  the  lovers  in 
his  eagerness  to  tell  of  his  success. 

"It    is    triumph,    Raymond!"    he    cried; 


The  Red  Box  131 

M  triumph  beyond  our  most  sanguine  dreams. 
Nay,  fear  not,  Felicie,  this  is  Brother  Bernard 
Delicieux,  who,  though  a  Franciscan  friar, 
dared  to  go  with  us  as  deputy  from  Carcas- 
sonne. We  owe  our  victory  in  great  part  to 
him,  for  though  his  Majesty  listened  to  my 
arguments  he  has  not  a  legal  mind,  and  was 
not  so  much  impressed  by  their  cogency  as  I 
had  reason  to  expect ;  but  he  was  completely 
won  by  Brother  Bernard's  eloquence,  and  we 
can  snap  our  fingers  now  at  Foulques  de  Saint 
Georges  and  at  our  Bishop,  who  persecute 
good  Christians  solely  that  they  may  possess 
their  wealth." 

"God  send  you  be  not  over  confident," 
murmured  Felicie. 

"Nay,  listen,"  continued  Arnauld  Garcia. 
"The  King  hath  commissioned  the  Vidame 
Jean  de  Picquigny  to  inquire  into  the  transac- 
tions of  the  tribunal  of  the  Inquisition  at 
Carcassonne,  and  to  reform  its  abuses,  re- 
minding him  that  it  has  no  power  to  inflict  the 
punishment  of  death,  but  can  only  judge  sus- 
pected persons,  and  if  it  finds  them  guilty, 
recommend  the  civil  authorities  to  deal  with 
them.  That  is  to  say,  hand  them  over  to  the 
Vidame  himself,  and  we  know  that  there  does 
not  live  a  more  merciful  man  than  Jean  de 


132  French  Abbeys 

Picquigny.  Interrupt  me  not,  for  there  is 
better  news  still.  His  Majesty,  justly  indig- 
nant at  the  malpractices  of  Foulques  de  Saint 
Georges,  has  written  to  the  heads  of  the 
Dominican  order  demanding  his  instant  re- 
moval from  the  Holy  Office.  What  say  you  to 
that,  my  children?  I  met  the  rogue  in  the 
street,  and  I  could  not  forbear  giving  him  a 
slap  of  my  tongue.  'You  left  Albi  suddenly, 
Maitre  Garcia,'  he  said;  'was  your  journey 
long?'  'Not  longer  nor  more  unexpected 
than  your  reverence  may  soon  take,'  I  an- 
swered— and  you  should  have  seen  his  face. 
It  was  green  with  malice.' ' 

"But  the  Inquisition  itself,"  insisted  Fe- 
licie,  "that  has  not  been  abolished,  and  its 
dreadful  work  will  simply  go  on  under  an- 
other Inquisitor." 

"Fear  not,  my  daughter,"  Bernard  Deli- 
cieux  said  kindly.  "When  once  a  just  man  is 
appointed,  what  can  he  find  to  punish  ?  There 
has  been  no  heresy  in  Albi;  no,  nor  in  all 
Languedoc  for  an  hundred  years." 

The  girl  shuddered  and  crossed  herself. 
"Knowest  thou,  reverend  Father,  what  this 
horrible  crime  was  which  deserved  such  pun- 
ishment? I  have  often  wondered,  but  have 
never  dared  to  ask." 


The  Red  Box  133 

"It  was  an  error,  my  daughter,  into  which 
only  the  unhappy  can  fall.  They  thought 
marriage  evil  and  suicide  good,  for  the  times 
were  cruel  and  they  believed  that  it  were 
better  that  the  human  race  should  end  of  its 
voluntary  act,  than  that  it  should  fester  in 
wickedness  until  God  destroyed  it  with  fire 
from  heaven." 

"No  danger  of  such  heresy  here,"  laughed 
Arnauld.  "Thou  seest,  Brother  Bernard, 
how  it  is  with  yonder  pair  of  turtle-doves." 

The  good  friar  raised  his  hands  in  blessing. 
"Marriage  is  a  holy  sacrament,"  he  said. 
"God  make  you  worthy  of  your  happiness." 

"How  incredible  that  they  should  have 
thought  it  sin,"  Felicie  murmured,  "and 
suicide  right.  But  if  one  must  burn,  I  could 
understand  that  temptation." 

"That  could  not  I,"  her  lover  replied.  "I 
had  the  opportunity  when  I  bought  these 
pearls  of  providing  myself  at  the  same  time 
with  swift  escape  by  that  road  from  any  tor- 
ture that  may  overtake  me.  I  know  not  why 
I  tell  you  that  I  scorned  to  do  so,  unless  it  be 
to  prove  to  Felicie  my  confidence  that  the  old 
evil  days  are  past,  and  if  not,  then  God  grant 
me  the  death  of  a  brave  man,  not  that  of  a 
coward." 


134  French  Abbeys 

''Well  spoken,  my  son,"  said  Bernard, 
"and  if  trouble  should  come,  wait  patiently 
on  God,  for  He  still  worketh  miracles/ ' 

They  knew  not  what  they  said,  or  that  the 
time  was  near  when  both  Raymond  Garcia 
and  Bernard  Delicieux  would  long,  as  for  the 
greatest  of  all  boons,  for  one  of  those  almond 
comfits  with  its  merciful  swift-dealing  death. 

Raymond  and  Felicie  sat  late  together 
telling  each  other  of  their  happiness,  but  as 
the  bridegroom  left  his  palace  door  on  the 
morrow  to  meet  his  bride  at  the  cathedral, 
rough  hands  were  laid  upon  him,  and  he  was 
arrested  in  the  name  of  the  Inquisition. 

HI 

THE  RED  BOX  AT  CARCASSONNE 

Foulques  de  Saint  Georges  had  been  too 
prompt  in  his  work  to  please  the  Bishop  of 
Albi.  Had  he  delayed  the  arrest  until  after 
Raymond  Garcia's  marriage  Felicie's  jewels 
would  have  been  among  the  goods  and  chat- 
tels confiscated,  but  now  the  disappointed 
Bishop  searched  the  Garcia  palace  in  vain  for 
the  red  box. 

Raymond  Garcia  had  been  immediately 
conducted  to  Carcassonne,  where  were  the 


The  Red  Box  135 

prisons  and  tribunal  of  the  Inquisition.  His 
friends  were  denied  access  to  him,  but  as  he 
was  marched  with  other  prisoners  through 
the  city  gate,  they  had  stood  in  the  crowd 
held  back  by  the  guards  and  shouted  their 
greetings. 

Felicie's  heart  was  sick  with  terror;  but 
love  is  stronger  than  fear.  "Raymond,"  she 
cried,  "wait  for  the  miracle;  you  shall  be  set 
at  liberty." 

"I  will  wait,"  he  answered  with  a  brave 
smile.  He  could  make  no  gesture  of  farewell 
with  his  manacled  hands,  but  he  threw  his 
long  hair  back  with  a  proud  motion  of  his 
head  and  gazed  fixedly  at  his  beloved  until 
out  of  sight. 

"It  is  Raymond's  part  to  wait  for  the 
miracle,"  said  Arnauld  Garcia,  "but  it  is  ours 
to  perform  it.  God  knows  which  has  the 
harder  task."  He  was  consumed  with  indig- 
nation and  apprehension,  but  he  had  no 
thought  of  failure.  The  seals  of  the  Inquisi- 
tion were  on  the  doors  of  his  home  which  he 
would  never  enter  again.  No  matter,  he  had 
other  property,  enough,  he  nattered  himself, 
to  bribe  the  most  grasping  of  judges,  and  he 
set  out  at  once  with  Bernard  Delicieux  for 
Carcassonne.     With   them,   in    spite    of   her 


136  French  Abbeys 

father's  entreaty,  rode  Felicie.  De  Lavaur 
loved  his  daughter,  but  he  was  distracted 
with  fear.  "The  Bishop  of  Albi  is  my 
friend,"  he  said.  "I  may  be  able  to  save 
Raymond  better  here  than  in  a  town  of 
strangers.  Meanwhile,  here  is  money,  but 
be  cautious,  and,  above  all  things,  restrain 
Arnauld.  He  is  devoted,  but  rash.  He 
has  done  enough  already  to  place  himself  in 
the  power  of  the  Inquisition.  I  marvel  that 
he  was  not  arrested  instead  of  our  poor 
Raymond." 

Arnauld  Garcia  was  fully  aware  of  the 
enmity  of  which  he  was  the  object,  and  he 
understood  as  clearly  that  his  immunity  lay 
in  his  influence  with  the  King,  which  both  he 
and  his  enemies  exaggerated.  Bernard  De- 
licieux,  the  Franciscan,  was  exactly  in  the 
same  case  with  himself,  and  with  the  help  of 
this  brave  monk  he  felt  himself  a  match  for 
the  Inquisitor. 

Two  monasteries  of  rival  brotherhoods,  the 
Dominicans  and  the  Franciscans,  flourished  at 
this  time  at  Carcassonne,  and  well  exempli- 
fied the  temper  of  their  founders.  To  the  dis- 
ciples of  the  stern  Saint  Dominic  had  been 
confided  the  maintenance  of  the  Inquisition. 
Since  the  Albigensian  crusade,  when  Dominic 


The  Red  Box  137 

de  Guzman  made  his  debut  as  the  fanatic  in- 
stigator of  its  atrocities,  the  order  which  he  had 
founded  in  Toulouse  for  "the  cure  of  souls" 
had  spread  until  it  divided  with  the  Fran- 
ciscans the  control  of  the  Church,  and  even 
the  temporal  power  of  Christendom.  The  two 
orders  were  the  antipodes  of  each  other  in 
everything  except  ambition,  for  the  Fran- 
ciscans not  only  preached  but  practised 
charity,  the  doctrine  of  the  gentle  Francis. 

At  Carcassonne  their  conflict  was  now  to  be 
fought  out  by  Foulques  de  Saint  Georges  and 
by  Bernard  Delicieux,  each  man  determined 
to  win,  and  each  a  leader  in  his  own  order. 

From  day  to  day  Bernard  and  Arnauld 
Garcia  confidently  awaited  the  removal  of 
Foulques  from  his  office.  The  King  had  de- 
manded this  from  the  Dominican  order — on 
the  strength  of  the  representations  of  Bernard 
and  Garcia.  But  a  heavy  disappointment  was 
in  store  for  them,  for  the  royal  request  was 
firmly  refused.  This  was  a  blow  indeed,  but 
Arnauld  showed  no  signs  of  despair. 

' '  If  the  King  of  France  is  powerless  to  help 
us,"  he  said  to  Bernard,  "I  will  appeal  to 
Spain.  The  Garcias  are  of  the  old  Aragonese 
nobility.  Fernan,  Prince  of  Majorca,  is  my 
friend." 


138  French  Abbeys 

But  Bernard  laid  a  warning  hand  on  Ar- 
nauld's  arm. 

"You  could  not  please  Foulques  better 
than  by  such  a  course,"  he  said.  "Since  the 
transfer  of  Languedoc  to  France,  the  old 
Spanish  aristocracy  have  been  closely  watched 
for  any  signs  of  disloyalty.  Beware  how  you 
play  into  the  hands  of  your  enemies.  Wait, 
and  trust  to  Jean  de  Picquigny.  The  In- 
quisitor may  arrest  whom  he  pleases  and 
hand  them  to  the  Vidame.  With  no  matter 
what  instructions,  Jean  de  Picquigny  will 
burn  no  one,  will  hang  no  one,  will  torture 
no  one.     Wait." 

But  Foulques  had  foreseen  the  Vidame's 
leniency,  and  had  his  own  scheme  for  thwart- 
ing it. 

Day  after  day  Raymond's  friends  waited 
for  news  of  his  trial.  He  was  neither  re- 
leased nor  delivered  for  punishment  to  the 
secular  arm.  The  grim  facade  of  the  Domin- 
ican monastery,  behind  which  were  the  prisons 
of  the  Inquisition,  was  not  more  silent  than 
the  monks  who  came  and  went.  Nor  were 
Arnauld  Garcia's  and  Felicie's  the  only 
anxious  hearts  that  besieged  its  gates  for 
news  of  their  beloved.  Many  arrests  had 
been  made  in  Cordes,  Albi,  and  other  neigh- 


The  Red  Box  139 

bouring  towns.  The  distracted  relatives  of 
the  victims  swarmed  the  streets  of  Carcas- 
sonne, and  the  citizens  of  the  town  murmured 
their  sympathy  hoarsely  and  threw  stones  at 
Foulques  de  Saint  Georges  when  he  rode 
through  the  street. 

The  Inquisitor  felt  the  pulse  of  the  popular 
hatred  when  a  tile  grazed  his  cheek.  He  was 
as  brave  as  he  was  cruel,  but  this  was  no  time 
to  sentence  victims  to  the  stake,  for  the  city 
was  on  the  verge  of  riot.  But  there  were 
other  less  spectacular  modes  of  compassing 
his  ends,  and  he  felt  that  in  the  long  game  of 
patience  he  held  the  winning  cards. 

He  had  scarcely  entered  his  cloister  when 
a  visitor  was  announced. 

It  was  the  Vidame,  Jean  de  Picquigny,  who 
had  been  summoned  by  a  committee  of  pro- 
minent citizens  to  demand  from  the  Inquisi- 
tion an  accounting  for  its  prisoners. 

He  was  answered  that  the  tribunal  was  not 
exceeding  its  powers.  The  time  which  must 
intervene  between  condemnation  and  punish- 
ment was  not  set  by  any  law.  If  the  tribunal 
in  its  mercy  delayed  handing  its  criminals 
over  to  a  swift  execution  of  their  sentence, 
surely  their  friends  should  be  the  last  to 
complain. 


140  French  Abbeys 

The  King  himself,  in  reminding  the  Inquisi- 
tion so  arrogantly  that  its  office  was  to  se- 
quester guilty  persons,  not  to  punish  them — 
Ad  custodiam  non  ad  pcenam, — had  confirmed 
its  right  to  imprison  indefinitely.  Let  all 
rest  assured  that  the  prisoners  would  be  duly 
fed  "with  the  bread  and  water  of  affliction. " 
If  they  died  before  they  were  brought  to  the 
stake,  none  could  impeach  the  Inquisition 
for  any  violation  of  the  exact  letter  of  the 
law. 

When  the  Vidame  brought  this  answer  to 
the  crowd  waiting  in  the  public  square,  Fe- 
licie's  heart  stood  still.  "Did  this  mean  per- 
petual imprisonment  for  Raymond?  Would 
he  remain  many  years  in  his  dungeon?" 

But  Arnauld  Garcia  laughed  bitterly,  for  he 
understood  better  than  she  the  depth  of 
cruelty  hidden  beneath  this  announcement. 
"Raymond  will  not  linger  so  long,"  he  said; 
"a  year,  perhaps,  for  he  is  strong,  and  he  has 
given  you  his  word  not  to  destroy  himself; 
but  unless  we  can  rescue  him  speedily,  you 
may  pray  God  to  send  death  to  his  release." 

"Are  their  prisons  so  horrible?"  Felicie 
asked  shudderingly. 

"They  are  not  imprisoned,"  cried  a  woman 
in  like  case.     "  Have  you  not  heard?" 


The  Red  Box  141 

"Nay,  woman,  in  mercy  be  silent!"  com- 
manded Arnauld ;  but  she  went  on  wildly. 

"They  are  not  imprisoned,  they  are  walled 
up  alive!  Only  a  small  opening  is  left  before 
each  niche,  one  stone  unset,  and  through  that 
hand-breadth  a  crust  of  bread  and  a  cup  of 
water  are  passed  daily;  just  enough  to  keep 
death  from  ending  their  tortures;  but  at  last, 
at  last,  the  ravings  of  madness  end  in  silence, 
and  the  masons  set  the  missing  stone." 

The  girl  turned  faint,  and  Arnauld  bathed 
her  face  at  the  fountain  in  the  centre  of  the 
square. 

"Listen,"  he  said,  as  the  loud  ringing  of  a 
tocsin  smote  upon  the  air.  "The  citizens  of 
Carcassonne  are  not  the  men  to  suffer  such 
atrocity,  at  least  not  when  their  blood  is  up, 
and  Brother  Bernard  has  it  at  the  boiling 
point.  He  has  been  haranguing  them  in  the 
church  of  the  Franciscans,  and  that  bell  is  the 
signal  that  they  have  sent  him  to  tell  the  Vi- 
dame  that  unless  he  marches  at  their  head  as 
they  go  now  to  the  Dominican  Convent,  and 
commands  the  opening  of  those  living  tombs, 
they  will  leave  no  stone  of  the  convent  upon 
another.  Go  into  the  house  and  wait  us, 
Felicie,  for  I  will  bring  Raymond  to  you  in 
half  an  hour." 


142  French  Abbeys 

"Nay,  I  will  go  with  you,"  said  the  girl; 
and  they  joined  the  throng  of  men,  women, 
and  children  surging  resolutely  to  the  convent 
gates. 

Jean  de  Picquigny  had  rejoiced  to  receive 
that  message.  If  the  town  were  in  revolt, 
what  blame  could  the  King  find  if  he  some- 
what exceeded  his  commission  in  preserving 
order?  He  addressed  the  excited  populace, 
agreeing  to  give  his  sanction  to  the  removal 
of  their  friends  in  an  orderly  manner  to  the 
citadel,  there  to  wait  under  his  care  the 
pleasure  of  the  King.  This  compromise  ac- 
cepted by  the  mob,  the  Vidame  led  the  way 
to  the  Dominican  convent  and  summoned  the 
friars  to  unbar  their  gates. 

Instead  the  Inquisitor  appeared  at  an 
upper  window  and  excommunicated  him  for 
thus  violating  their  monastery. 

Jean  de  Picquigny  did  not  flinch,  and  the 
mob  at  his  command  battered  in  the  portal 
and  forced  their  way  to  the  prison.  They 
would  have  done  violence  to  the  panic- 
stricken  friars  but  for  Bernard,  who  held  them 
in  leash  with  his  dominating  voice.  "This 
is  a  day  of  gladness,"  he  cried;  "let  no  blood 
be  shed." 

While  the  workmen  toiled  with  pickaxe  and 


The  Red  Box  143 

lever,  the  eloquent  monk  had  a  still  more 
difficult  task  to  restrain  the  frenzied  women 
who  pressed  forward,  wild  to  know  if  those 
they  loved  were  still  living.  Felicie  com- 
forted a  beautiful  boy  who  called  piteously 
on  his  father.  "Listen,  listen,  my  child," 
she  said;  "listen,  and  you  will  the  sooner 
recognise  his  voice,"  and  in  thus  controlling 
the  child  she  schooled  herself  in  that  agony 
of  suspense. 

One  by  one  the  stones  were  torn  from  their 
place,  and  eyes  that  in  despair  had  ceased  to 
weep  now  rained  happy  tears  upon  the  faces 
of  their  beloved. 

They  were  still  to  be  prisoners  in  the  citadel, 
but  how  different  their  condition;  lodged  in 
airy  chambers,  supplied  with  all  necessities, 
and,  best  of  all,  tenderly  nursed  by  their 
friends  and  cheered  by  the  hope  of  acquittal 
(for  the  King  himself  was  soon  to  make  a 
progress  through  Languedoc) .  What  wonder 
that  as  Felicie  pressed  Raymond's  wasted 
cheek  against  her  own  they  believed  that  the 
miracle  for  which  they  had  laboured  and 
waited  had  been  wrought,  and  that  the  bitter- 
ness of  death  was  past  ? 


144  French  Abbeys 

IV 

IN  WHICH  THE  RED  BOX  ACCOMPLISHES  THAT  UNTO 
WHICH  IT  WAS  FOREORDAINED 

"  And  seld-seen  costly  stones  of  so  much  price, 
And  of  a  carect  of  this  quantity, 
May  serve  in  peril  of  calamity 
To  ransom  great  kings  from  captivity." 

Marlowe's  "  Rich  Jew  of  Malta." 

"Put  not  your  trust  in  princes,"  said  the 
Vidame,  bitterly,  when  Philippe  le  Bel  re- 
fused to  interfere  further,  and  referred  the 
petitioners  to  the  Pope. 

"Nay,  this  is  indeed  the  sovereign  Pontiff's 
business, ' '  replied  Bernard.  ' '  We  should  have 
gone  to  him  at  first." 

There  was  but  one  way  to  reach  the  ear  of 
Benedict  XL,  one  of  the  most  venal  of  the 
Popes,  and  when  Bernard  set  out  for  Avignon, 
Felicie  was  among  the  first  to  confide  to  him 
her  offering — the  red  box  of  pearls. 

Bernard  had  two  petitions  to  present  to  the 
Pope:  the  removal  of  the  excommunication 
launched  upon  Jean  de  Picquigny  and  the  re- 
lease of  the  prisoners  still  retained  by  him  as 
a  half-way  measure  in  defiance  of  Foulques 
de  Saint  Georges,  but  in  deference  to  the 
authority  of  the  Church.     Bernard  returned 


The  Red  Box  145 

baffled,  though  not  absolutely  hopeless.  He 
had  not  been  able  to  see  his  Holiness,  but  he 
had  found  a  faithful  friend  in  the  Pope's  phy- 
sician, Maitre  de  Villeneuve,  who  had  been  a 
fellow -student  of  Bernard's  at  the  University 
of  Montpellier.  To  him  he  had  confided 
Felicie's  pearls.  They  would  reach  Benedict 
XL  and  must  emphasise  her  appeal,  for  they 
were  worthy  a  king's  ransom. 

No  answer  came,  and  desperation  filled  the 
souls  of  Bernard  and  Arnauld,  for  the  two 
actors  in  the  drama  on  whom  they  had  most 
counted — the  Pope  and  the  brave  Vidame — 
died  suddenly  within  a  few  weeks  of  each 
other. 

Be  it  known  to  the  honour  of  the  Fran- 
ciscans that  they  celebrated  a  mass  in  behalf 
of  the  excommunicated  Jean  de  Picquigny, 
and  appointed  Bernard  Delicieux  to  preach 
his  funeral  oration.  In  the  face  of  his 
triumphant  enemies  he  declared  that  the  Vi- 
dame, who  had  plead  the  cause  of  the  perse- 
cuted unavailingly  before  King  and  Pope, 
had  now  gone  to  arraign  the  Pontiff  before 
the  bar  of  Almighty  God.  Such  denunciation 
was  an  act  of  sublime  heroism,  but  it  was  also 
sublime  folly.  It  was  a  challenge  to  Foulques 
de  Saint  Georges  to  do  his  worst,  and  at  the 


146  French  Abbeys 

death  of  the  Vidame  his  victims  had  been  re- 
manded to  their  prisons  in  the  Dominican 
monastery. 

All  of  the  negotiations  entered  into  with 
Benedict  XI.  must  be  repeated  to  gain  the  ear 
of  the  new  Pope,  and  Bernard  again  set  out 
for  Avignon  to  appeal  to  Clement  V. 

Arnauld  Garcia  hoped  nothing  from  the 
mission,  for  Bernard  had  now  no  friend  at  the 
Papal  Court.  Months  passed,  and  the  good 
monk  wrote  to  the  impatient  friends  at  Car- 
cassonne that  the  Cardinals  accepted  his 
bribes,  and  assured  him  that  the  matter 
would  in  the  due  course  of  affairs  be  brought 
to  the  attention  of  his  Holiness,  who  had 
hundreds  of  other  petitions  awaiting  his  con- 
sideration. 

It  was  true  that  Clement  was  not  over- 
burdened with  holy  duties,  but  was  acting  on 
the  principle  of  another  Pontiff,  "Enjoy  we 
the  papacy,  since  God  has  given  it  to  us." 

"But  what  of  that?"  asked  the  Cardinals. 
"Were  a  Pope's  hours  of  relaxation  to  be  im- 
pudently interfered  with?  The  petitioners 
must  wait." 

Arnauld  Garcia  could  wait  no  longer.  The 
Inquisition  was  now  burning  its  victims  at 
the  stake  in  the  public  square  of  Carcassonne. 


The  Red  Box  147 

Raymond's  sentence  had  been  pronounced  and 
might  be  executed  at  any  day.  If  not  burned 
in  public,  he  could  not  possibly  linger  long, 
and  might  even  now  be  dying  in  the  loathsome 
hollow  within  the  walls.  Desperate  crises 
called  for  desperate  remedies,  and  one  was  at 
hand. 

Prince  Fernand  of  Majorca,  son  of  King 
Jayme  of  Aragon,  had  communicated  with 
Arnauld  and  had  promised  that  if  Carcas- 
sonne would  receive  him  as  its  lord,  he  would 
come  with  such  an  army  as  should  hold  it 
against  all  besiegers,  and  that  under  his 
suzerainty  the  Inquisition  should  be  sup- 
pressed. It  was  a  wild  dream  of  a  chivalrous 
and  impractical  boy,  but  to  Arnauld  Garcia, 
who  had  always  looked  upon  the  French  as 
invaders  of  the  province,  there  seemed  no  im- 
possibility and  no  dishonour  in  returning  to 
Spanish  allegiance. 

Arnauld  therefore  presented  the  proposition 
of  the  Prince  at  a  secret  meeting  of  the  coun- 
cillors of  Carcassonne. 

"Call  this  rebellion  if  you  choose,"  he  de- 
clared. "We  hear  nothing  from  Bernard. 
We  are  betrayed  by  the  King  of  France,  and 
deserted  by  the  Pope.  Shall  we  leave  our 
own  flesh  and  blood  to  rot  in  their  living 


148  French  Abbeys 

graves,  or  shall  we  rescue  them,  if  not  by  the 
help  of  God,  then  by  the  help  of  the  devil?" 

His  impassioned  arguments  carried  the  day, 
and  Arnauld  was  sent  to  Perpignan  to  meet 
Prince  Fernand. 

Felicie  divined  vaguely  what  was  on  foot, 
for  though  Arnauld  had  told  her  only  that 
he  was  going  on  a  most  important  journey 
which  might  change  all  their  fortunes,  she 
had  feared  this  all  along,  and  had  vainly 
striven  to  hold  his  impulsive  spirit  within 
bounds.  Earnestly  she  besought  him  to  wait 
until  Brother  Bernard  returned.  She  could 
only  prevail  upon  him  to  communicate  with 
him  at  Avignon. 

"And  if  you  fail?"  Felicie  asked  in  agony. 

"I  shall  not  fail,"  Arnauld  replied,  his 
eyes  shining  with  excitement,  and  he  had 
left  her  to  battle  alone  with  her  misgivings. 

Days  and  weeks  passed  without  word  from 
either  Arnauld  or  Bernard,  but  at  last  there 
came  a  day  when  a  traveller  drew  bridle  at 
Felicie 's  door.  It  was  her  father,  whom  she 
had  not  seen  since  she  left  Albi,  and  he  brought 
great  news  indeed. 

Bernard's  persistency  had  forced  itself  upon 
the  Pope's  leisure,  and  for  once  Clement  had 
showed  himself  worthy  of  his  name,  and  had 


The  Red  Box  149 

sent  the  Cardinal  de  Saint  Vital  and  the 
Abbot  of  Fontefroide  into  Languedoc  to  in- 
vestigate the  causes  of  complaint.  The  depu- 
tation had  gone  first  to  Albi ;  and  the  Bishop, 
alarmed  by  the  inquiries  of  these  dignitaries, 
had  made  a  feint  of  co-operation,  attesting 
that  certain  of  his  flock  who  had  been  ar- 
rested by  Foulques  de  Saint  Georges  were 
good  Christians.  In  so  doing  he  had  seen 
his  way  to  make  the  situation  serve  his  own 
ends,  and  sending  for  De  Lavaur  had  told 
him  that  the  Cardinals  were  but  men,  and 
might  be  induced  to  clear  Raymond  Garcia. 
A  certain  red  casket  said  to  contain  pearls 
had  been  scheduled  among  his  confiscated 
effects,  but  had  not  been  found  in  his  palace. 
It  was  a  crime  to  withhold  goods  which  al- 
ready belonged  to  the  Church,  but  if  the  red 
box  were  immediately  placed  in  his  posses- 
sion, the  Bishop  would  pass  over  the  fraud 
and  assure  the  Cardinals  as  to  Raymond's 
orthodoxy. 

De  Lavaur  agreed  without  demur.  Felicie 
was  at  Carcassonne,  and  would  be  over- 
joyed to  purchase  her  lover's  liberty  with 
his  gift.  He  would  instantly  seek  her  and 
return  with  the  pearls.  The  Bishop,  relying 
on  De  Lavaur's  good  faith  and  quite  as  much 


150  French  Abbeys 

upon  his  fears,  gave  him  his  blessing,  and 
placed  Raymond's  name  upon  the  list  of 
those  recommended  to  mercy.  The  Cardinals 
had  passed  him  on  the  road,  and  were  now  at 
the  Dominican  convent.  Felicie  might  pre- 
pare herself  to  welcome  her  lover. 

It  was  no  false  hope,  for  the  men  who 
formed  the  committee,  though  selfish  volup- 
tuaries, were  not  essentially  cruel,  and  were 
shocked  by  the  result  of  their  investigations, 
and  that  very  night  they  set  Raymond  Garcia 
at  liberty,  together  with  thirty-nine  other 
innocent  men,  who  for  five  years  (save  for 
their  respite  in  the  care  of  Jean  de  Picquigny) 
had  awaited  trial  in  darkness  and  filth  and 
misery  inconceivable. 

Some  were  violently  insane,  others  blind, 
and  Raymond's  mind  had  undergone  a 
strange  eclipse,  for  he  had  mercifully  for- 
gotten all  that  had  happened  since  his  arrest, 
and  woke  from  a  long  trance-like  sleep  weak 
and  spent,  but  with  the  belief  that  it  was  his 
wedding-morn. 

He  was  troubled  when  he  found  that  he 
could  not  rise.  "I  shall  be  late  for  the  cere- 
mony," he  said,  "and  Felicie  is  waiting  for 
me  at  the  cathedral." 

"Nay,  I  am  here,  my  own,"   she  replied. 


The  Red  Box  151 

"You  have  been  ill  and  must  rest,  but  we  shall 
be  wedded  soon,  and  I  shall  not  leave  you. ' '  He 
closed  his  eyes  again  quite  content,  blissfully 
unconscious  of  all  the  suffering  through  which 
he  had  passed,  or  of  any  cause  of  alarm  for  the 
future. 

But  Felicie's  father  was  nearly  crazed  with 
consternation  when  he  understood  that  his 
promise  to  the  Bishop  of  Albi  could  not  be 
fulfilled.  "We  must  flee,"  he  reiterated, 
"we  must  flee  before  the  Bishop  knows  the 
truth  and  visits  his  displeasure  upon  us." 

Bernard  Delicieux,  who  had  returned  from 
Avignon  in  company  with  the  papal  envoys, 
also  counselled  immediate  flight.  He  had 
heard  from  Arnauld.  The  conspiracy  had 
failed,  and  was  known  to  the  authorities,  and 
Arnauld  would  not  return.  "You  must  join 
him  at  Perpignan,"  said  Bernard,  "while  you 
have  the  opportunity;  in  another  twelve 
hours  it  may  be  too  late.  I  will  inform  the 
Bishop  of  Albi,  when  I  judge  that  you  are  out 
of  harm's  way,  of  the  disposition  which  you 
have  made  of  the  pearls,  and  Monsieur  de 
Lavaur  can,  if  he  chooses,  make  him  a  pro- 
pitiatory gift  of  his  real  estate  in  Albi.  As 
well  make  a  virtue  of  a  necessity,  since  it  is 
quite  in  his  power." 


152  French  Abbeys 

They  laid  Raymond  in  a  gently  swaying 
litter,  and  setting  forth  at  night,  by  round- 
about ways  and  through  obscure  passes, 
crossed  the  Pyrenees;  not  tarrying  even  at 
Perpignan,  or  considering  themselves  safe 
until  they  arrived  at  Majorca,  where  under  the 
protection  of  Prince  Fernand,  Raymond  and 
Arnauld  Garcia,  Felicie  and  her  father  passed 
the  remainder  of  their  lives  in  grateful  exile. 
News  travelled  slowly  in  those  days,  and  not 
until  it  was  long  past  did  they  learn  of  the 
martyrdom  of  their  friend. 

Bernard  Delicieux  might  have  escaped  had 
he  so  elected,  but  his  conception  of  his  duty 
kept  him  at  his  post.  The  Pope's  mercy  was 
but  a  momentary  spasm,  and  the  Inquisition 
was  not  likely  to  overlook  the  man  who  had 
so  long  defied  it. 

Bernard  was  excommunicated,  and  tried  on 
three  charges: 

i .  That  he  had  for  many  years  opposed  the 
holy  office  of  the  Inquisition. 

2.  That  he  had  conspired  against  the  King 
of  France  with  the  Prince  of  Majorca. 

3.  That  he  had  poisoned  Pope  Benedict  XI. 
(See  Note  B.) 

The  last  charge  was  preposterous,  but  there 
lacked  not  witnesses  to  depose  that  Bernard 


The  Red  Box  153 

Delicieux  had  given  the  Pope's  physician  a 
small  Red  Box,  remarking  significantly  as  he 
did  so:  "  And  now  I  trust  we  shall  soon  have 
good  news";  and  that  very  shortly  there- 
after Benedict  XL  died  as  was  reported  of  an 
indigestion. 

It  was  believed  that  the  Inquisition  pos- 
sessed other  secret  evidence,  for  the  verdict 
of  the  tribunal  declared  authoritatively  that 
"the  said  coffre  contained  preparations,  pow- 
ders, by  means  of  which  the  life  of  the  said 
Benedict  was  cut  short." 

Degraded,  tortured,  condemned  to  the 
same  punishment  from  which  he  had  rescued 
so  many,  he  was  walled  up  alive  in  the  Do- 
minican monastery.  How  long  his  agony 
lasted  no  man  knows. 

"He  had  saved  others,  himself  he  could  not 
save,"  and  in  all  France  there  was  no  one 
brave  enough  to  lift  voice  or  hand  for  his 
release. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  ADVENTURES  OF  VER  VERT 
I 

THE  MISTLETOE  QUEEN 

"  TJA!  HA!"    cackled    the  Abbey  parrot. 

"  *  "Canticum  novum"  ("a  new  song"), 
11  novum,  novum,  ha!  ha!  ha!"  and  the  dia- 
bolical bird  burst  into  new  songs  indeed, 
which  had  never  before  wakened  the  echoes  of 
that  sacred  cloister.  They  were  ribald  glees 
such  as  bargemen  roar,  and  round,  coarse 
oaths,  with  words  of  such  low  import  that  the 
gentle  nuns  heard  them  unabashed,  for  they 
understood  them  not. 

But  the  community  was  grieved  beyond 
measure,  and  the  Abbess  horror-stricken  and 
indignant,  while  the  little  Queen  Mistletoe 
was  heartbroken,  for  her  cherished  playfellow 
Ver  Vert,  her  only  merry  companion  in  this 

154 


The  Adventures  of  Ver  Vert      155 

peaceful  but  somewhat  dull  retreat,  had  fallen 
from  grace  and  must  be  banished  from  the 
convent. 

The  child  would  now  be  doubly  lonely  and 
homesick,  for  her  soubriquet  of  the  Mistletoe 
Queen  but  too  vividly  told  the  truth  that  she 
was  of  foreign  birth  borne  hither  by  an  ill 
wind  of  fortune  and  unloved  by  the  stock 
that  nourished  her. 

It  was  Louis  XL  of  France  who  had  first 
bestowed  the  name  upon  the  little  Austrian 
Princess,  who  was  to  be  bred  up  in  France  as 
the  affianced  bride  of  his  son. 

"Take  her  to  your  heart,  Charles,"  the 
dying  King  had  commanded.  "Her  father, 
Maximilian,  and  I  have  played  against  each 
other  all  our  lives,  now  in  open  feud,  now 
striving  to  overreach  each  other  in  diplomatic 
intrigue,  the  stakes  of  our  game  the  fair  pro- 
vinces of  the  Netherlands.  I  have  won  at  last, 
for  the  Princess  Marguerite  brings  them  to 
you  as  her  dowry.  Both  she  and  they  are 
French  now,  Let  her  never  feel  herself  an 
alien,  but  cherish  her  even  as  that  sturdy 
oak  nourishes  its  crown  of  mistletoe.  Go, 
Charles,  and  welcome  her,  your  little  Mistletoe 
Queen." 

The  young  prince  obeyed  reluctantly,  but 


156  French  Abbeys 

scowled  as  the  spoiled  child  repulsed  his  un- 
willing salute,  crying: 

"Go  away,  you  ugly  thing.  You  stutter, 
and  you  have  big  eyes  like  an  owl.  I  want 
the  pretty  boy  with  the  yellow  hair  and  the 
pink  cheeks,  the  pretty  boy  in  the  green  velvet 
doublet." 

The  cheeks  of  the  saucy  page  thus  desig- 
nated grew  rosier  still  behind  his  plumed  cap. 
He  was  only  a  young  Savoyard,  called  Phili- 
bert  le  Beau,  who  had  been  sent  to  France  to 
learn  the  manners  of  a  courtier.  They  had 
come  to  him  naturally  enough,  and  Philibert 
was  universally  acknowledged  the  handsomest, 
the  most  accomplished,  and  the  most  engaging 
of  the  royal  pages.  If  we  add  that  his  rank 
as  second  cousin  of  the  Duke  of  Savoy  was  as 
inconsiderable  as  his  fortune  it  will  be  under- 
stood that  the  Dauphin  (in  a  few  days  by  his 
father's  death  to  be  Charles  VIII.  of  France) 
had  no  reason  to  fear  the  marked  preference 
of  his  three-year-old  betrothed. 

Her  affection  then  and  always  was  a  matter 
of  supreme  indifference  to  her  betrothed,  and 
he  saw  little  of  her,  for  his  older  sister,  who 
had  been  appointed  gouvernante  of  the  little 
girl,  presently  took  her  to  her  own  estates. 
But  Marguerite's  fancy  for  the  handsome  page 


The  Adventures  of  Ver  Vert      157 

was  fostered  by  this  arrangement,  for  she  was 
presently  confided  to  the  nuns  of  the  Visit- 
andines  of  Nevers  to  be  fitted  for  the  elevated 
station  to  which  she  was  destined,  and  it  was 
Philibert  who  from  time  to  time  carried  her 
the  letters  of  the  boy-King.  They  were  such 
as  it  was  the  duty  of  a  punctilious  young  gen- 
tleman to  send  to  his  affianced;  but  alas! 
Charles  not  only  did  not  write  them  but  could 
not  have  done  so,  for  his  education  had  been 
shamefully  neglected,  and  the  mendacious 
missives  were  all  penned  by  the  King's  sister, 
my  Lady  of  Beaujeu.  Philibert  knew  this 
right  well,  but  he  kept  the  secret  for  several 
years,  not  only  out  of  loyalty  to  those  who 
sent  him,  and  because  he  had  no  heart  to  mar 
the  child's  pleasure  in  receiving  them,  but  per- 
haps also  because  he  feared  that  blabbing  he 
might  lose  this  privilege  of  occasionally  seeing 
the  little  Mistletoe  Queen. 

She  loved  to  prattle  with  him  and  to  ask 
him  questions  of  the  Court,  and  he  to  answer. 
They  were  both  lonely,  homesick  children,  and 
the  Sceur  Melanie,  who  sat  with  them  as  they 
chatted  in  the  cloister  garden,  saw  no  harm 
in  their  innocent  interviews. 

In  Philibert's  absence  Marguerite's  favour- 
ite playmate  was  the  convent  parrot.      This 


158  French  Abbeys 

highly  accomplished  fowl  was  with  good  reason 
the  boast  of  the  community.  The  pious  nuns 
had  taught  him  not  only  to  repeat  the  Ave 
Maria  and  a  few  other  fragmentary  Latin  ejac- 
ulations, but  he  could  sing  portions  of  their 
favourite  chant,  the  Veni  Sanctus  Spiritus. 

It  was  Marguerite's  delight  to  put  him 
through  his  paces  with  Philibert  for  audience. 
The  little  girl  saw  no  incongruity  in  the  bird's 
senseless  parodies  of  prayers  and  hymns ;  but 
the  page  was  mightily  amused,  and  his  eyes 
sparkled  with  mischief  as  he  exclaimed : 

''By  the  mass,  it  would  be  rare  sport  to 
teach  the  creature  some  naughty  jests,  and 
how  it  would  scandalise  the  good  nuns  to 
hear  Ver  Vert  troll  a  drinking  song." 

"That  shall  he  not,"  Marguerite  replied  in 
real  distress.  "Ver  Vert  is  a  good  Christian, 
and  his  morals  shall  not  be  corrupted.  He 
understands  all  that  he  says  and  what  he 
hears.  But  listen  while  he  chants  the  Sanc- 
tus, and  you  will  believe,  as  Sister  Melanie 
does,  that  he  has  a  soul.  Come,  Ver  Vert,  a 
canticum  novum — pretty  Ver  Vert,  sing  Veni, 
veni." 

The  eerie  bird  echoed  the  words  and  the 
notes  perfectly. 

"  Veni,  lumen  cordium"  trilled  Marguerite. 


VER  VERT  AT  THE  CONVENT  OF  THE  VISITANDINES. 
From  an  old  print,  permission  of  Longmans,  Green  &  Co. 


The  Adventures  of  Ver  Vert      159 

"Veni,  vent"  Ver  Vert  responded  doubt- 
fully, his  head  cocked  on  one  side  as  though 
he  were  striving  to  master  the  lesson.  Then 
suddenly  shrieking,  "Novum  canticum,  novum 
canticum"  he  burst  into  riotous  and  triumph- 
ant cackling  of  a  new  song  indeed: 

"  Veni,  vent,  vent,  Philibert, 
Lumen  cordium  meum,  Philibert, 
Gaudium,  cordium  meum,  Philibert, 
Veni,  veni,  veni,  Philibert. 

Alleluia,  Amen" 

The  boy  shouted  with  laughter,  but  Mar- 
guerite, mortified  and  grieved  beyond  expres- 
sion, closed  the  bird's  beak  with  her  fingers 
while  the  tears  sprang  to  her  eyes. 

''Think  not,"  she  exclaimed,  "that  Ver 
Vert  has  ever  heard  me  utter  thy  name.  I 
know  not  with  which  of  you  I  am  the  more 
vexed.  Ah!  he  shall  do  penance.  He  shall 
have  his  cage  darkened  and  shall  fast  till  he 
shows  true  repentance.  And  thou,  saucy 
page,  go  away,  nor  come  again,  for  thou  art  in 
nowise  the  light  or  joy  of  my  heart." 


160  French  Abbeys 

II 

EPISODE  OF  THE  PROFANE  PARROT 

With  voice  upraised  in  oaths  profuse 
He  mastered  all  the  language  blackguards  use; 
With  words  obscene  thus  pouring  from  his  beak, 
The  younger  sisters  deeme  he  spake  in  Greek. 

Gresset,  Translated  by  T.  S.  Allen. 

Philibert  had  departed  abashed,  but  in  a 
few  weeks  he  came  again. 

"Why  have  you  returned?"  Marguerite 
asked.  "Could  his  Majesty  find  no  other 
messenger  to  bring  me  his  letters?" 

"I  came  not  from  King  Charles,  dear  lady," 
the  page  replied,  "but  from  his  Grace  George 
d'Amboise.  Think  not,  sweet  mistress,  that 
I  have  ever  mentioned  Ver  Vert,  but  my 
message  concerns  that  idiotic  bird." 

1 '  Ver  Vert ! ' '  exclaimed  Marguerite.  ' '  What 
does  his  Grace  know  of  our  parrot?" 

1 '  It  seems  that  every  one  has  heard  of  him ; 
his  fame  has  even  reached  Lower  Brittany, 
and  the  Duchesse  Anne  de  Bretagne  is  wild  to 
possess  him." 

"That  we  know  already,"  replied  Mar- 
guerite. "The  Superior  of  a  nunnery  at 
Nantes  has  written  our  Abbess  requesting  her 
to  sell  or  at  least  to  lend  Ver  Vert,  but  she 
has  refused  to  do  so." 


The  Adventures  of  Ver  Vert      161 

''Your  Abbess  must  now  yield,"  replied 
Philibert,  "for  the  Bishop,  who  has  some  un- 
known reason  for  wishing  to  please  the 
Duchess,  has  written  that  the  parrot  must  be 
despatched  at  once." 

Marguerite  clenched  her  hand. 

'  ■  I  hate  Anne  de  Bretagne.  She  has  robbed 
me  of  my  father,  and  now  she  would  take  Ver 
Vert  from  me." 

'T  know  not  your  meaning,  sweet  mistress," 
Philibert  replied  in  surprise. 

"Perchance  I  have  divulged  a  state  secret," 
the  girl  exclaimed,  "but  it  cannot  long  remain 
hidden.  Thou  knowest  that  my  father,  the 
Emperor  Maximilian,  is  a  widower.  He  has 
written  me  that  he  is  to  marry  this  same 
Duchess  Anne  of  Brittany." 

"The  King  of  France  will  never  suffer  it," 
said  the  page,  "for  Brittany  is  a  French 
province,  and  by  this  marriage  the  Duchess 
would  carry  it  as  her  dower  to  Austria." 

"I  care  not,  I  care  not,"  wailed  Marguerite. 
"Let  who  will  possess  Brittany,  so  I  have  my 
Ver  Vert." 

"Alas !  dear  Madame,  his  Grace  insisted  that 
I  was  to  carry  the  parrot  to  Nantes,  and  you 
will  see  that  the  Abbess  will  not  dare  to  refuse 
him.     But,"  he  added,  touched  by  the  girl's 


1 62  French  Abbeys 

grief,  "  I  promise  you  that  you  shall  have  Ver 
Vert  back  again,  for  I  have  thought  of  an 
expedient." 

"Have  you  indeed,  dear  Philibert?  Only 
bring  Ver  Vert  again,  and  I  will  forgive  you 
for— for " 

' '  For  what,  dear  Queen  ?  Because  he  uttered 
my  insignificant  name?" 

' '  Because  you  laughed  —  because  you 
thought  he  had  learned  it  from  hearing  me 
repeat  it." 

"Nay,  that  were  too  wildly  sweet  even  to 
dream.  I  know  my  station,  your  Majesty, 
and  presume  only  to  be  your  devoted  servitor. 
Ver  Vert  shall  return,  but  it  may  be  that  when 
he  comes  your  Abbess  will  cast  him  out.  If 
that  should  be,  intercede  for  me,  most  gra- 
cious lady,  that  I  may  possess  him,  and  I  will 
correct  whatever  faults  he  may  in  his  absence 
have  acquired,  so  that  in  the  end  you  shall 
have  him  such  as  he  leaves  you." 

Philibert's  scheme  is  apparent,  even  to 
those  who  have  not  read  the  ancient  ballad 
which  Gresset  rhymed  of  Ver  Vert's  next  ad- 
ventures. How,  taking  passage  on  a  barge 
bound  for  Nantes,  as  he  glided  slowly  down 
the  winding  Loire,  out  of  lovely  Touraine  into 
distant    Brittany,    the    precocious    creature 


The  Adventures  of  Ver  Vert      163 

picked  up  through  the  page's  connivance  the 
argot  and  even  the  oaths  of  the  bargemen,  and 
at  the  end  of  his  voyage  swore  like  a  trooper 
and  put  them  all  to  the  blush  by  the  unbridled 
licence  of  his  conversation. 

Arrived  at  Nantes,  Ver  Vert  was  carried  to 
the  convent,  where  the  Duchess  was  waiting 
with  the  members  of  the  community  to  re- 
ceive him. 

The  parrot  regarded  his  hostesses  silently, 
accepting  the  sugar  and  cakes  given  him,  but 
deigning  no  response  to  compliments  and 
caresses. 

''Dear  bird,"  said  the  Abbess,  "we  have 
heard  of  thy  marvellous  aptitude  for  spiritual 
studies;  that  thou  canst  recite  the  Creed  and 
hast  mastered  the  Catechism.  We  have  ex- 
pected great  edification  from  thy  visit.  Deign 
to  do  credit  to  thy  teachers,  our  saintly  sisters 
of  Nevers,  by  responding  to  the  questions 
which  Sister  Angelique  will  now  read  at 
random.' ' 

The  nun  read  the  first  question  on  which  her 
eye  fell : 

"By  what  means  do  we  obtain  salvation?" 

"Sang  et  mort!"  shrieked  the  parrot,  re- 
peating the  skipper's  favourite  oath,  "Blood 
and  death,  ye  lazy  swine." 


1 64  French  Abbeys 

Astonishment  fell  upon  Ver  Vert's  gentle 
audience;  but  the  Abbess  rose  to  the  occa- 
sion. 

"  Right  aptly  hast  thou  answered,  O  parrot, 
for  it  is  indeed  by  the  most  precious  blood 
that  we  are  saved;  and  well  do  some  of  our 
number  deserve  thy  reproach  of  indolence. 
Ask  another  question,  Sister  Angelique,  for 
verily  the  wisdom  of  this  creature  is  most 
marvellous.' ' 

"What  shall  be  the  portion  of  the  impeni- 
tent throughout  eternity?"  the  reader  asked 
meekly. 

But  thereupon  such  terrible  words  burst  in 
a  rapid  volley  of  reiteration  from  the  parrot's 
throat  that  it  seemed  to  his  shocked  audience 
that  a  very  volcano  of  the  infernal  pit  were 
belching  forth  its  lurid  flames  in  their  midst. 

"Holy  Mother,  preserve  us!"  gasped  the 
Abbess.  "I  beseech  thee,  sweet  parrot,  speak 
more  gently.  Give  not  such  terrific  vehem- 
ence to  thy  utterances,  true  though  they  be. 
Put  to  him  yet  another  question  and  mark 
well  how  unerringly  he  replies." 

"Repeat  thy  Credo,  O  parrot,"  commanded 
Angelique. 

"Women  and  Wine!"  cackled  Ver  Vert, 
bursting    at    the    same    time    into    fiendish 


The  Adventures  of  Ver  Vert      165 

laughter,  and  varying  this  performance  with 
an  imitation  of  the  popping  of  corks. 

The  nuns  looked  at  one  another  in  conster- 
nation, while  the  Abbess,  rising,  rebuked  Ver 
Vert  sternly. 

"I  adjure  thee,  profane  creature,  to  answer 
the  question  which  I  shall  now  put  thee  with 
reverence,  and  utter  not  the  name  of  thy 
Creator  with  blasphemous  levity.  Who  made 
thee,  O  parrot?" 

'  'The  Devil!  the  Devil!  the  Devil!"  cackled 
Ver  Vert  in  high  glee,  while  the  nuns,  crossing 
themselves  in  horror,  or  thrusting  their  fingers 
into  their  ears,  rushed  from  the  room. 

After  this  Anne  de  Bretagne  had  no  longer 
any  desire  to  possess  the  disreputable  Ver 
Vert,  who  was  forthwith  ignominiously  re- 
turned to  the  Visitandines  of  Nevers,  to  the 
inexpressible  scandal  of  that  innocent  com- 
munity. The  nuns  could  harbour  the  de- 
bauched bird  no  longer  in  their  holy  cloister, 
and  Marguerite's  petition  that  he  should  be 
given  to  Philibert  was  disregarded, — such  a 
libel  on  the  conversation  of  the  convent  could 
not  be  allowed  to  exist;  and  greatly  to  the 
grief  of  the  Mistletoe  Queen,  Ver  Vert  was 
condemned  to  death  at  the  hands  of  the 
Abbey  butcher. 


1 66  French  Abbeys 

At  his  next  visit  Marguerite  told  Philibert 
of  the  fate  of  her  pet,  and  he  strove  to  com- 
fort her. 

''The  flesher  is  a  miserly  man/'  he  said; 
"he  knows  that  the  parrot  is  very  valuable, 
and  he  could  not  carry  out  the  command  of 
the  Abbess.  I  will  search  the  world  over, 
dear  lady,  until  I  find  Ver  Vert  and  bring  him 
back  to  you." 

Marguerite  dried  her  eyes,  and  Philibert 
went  upon  his  quest,  with  all  the  enthusiasm 
of  a  young  knight-errant.  He  had  not  far  to 
seek,  for  on  his  return  to  Amboise  he  saw  a 
bird-fancier,  with  a  hoop  suspended  from  his 
neck  on  which  were  perched  falcons  and  other 
birds,  which  he  was  crying  through  the  streets. 
Even  before  Philibert  realised  that  there  was 
a  green  parrot  among  them,  he  heard  his  own 
name  shrieked;  and  a  shrill  falsetto  voice 
greeted  his  ear  with  the  familiar 

"  Veni,  vent,  Philibert, 
Lumen  cordium  meum,  Philibert." 

Running  after  the  vender  he  purchased  the 
lost  favourite  (though  in  so  doing  he  parted 
with  an  entire  month's  allowance),  and 
carried  it  triumphantly  to  his  lodgings,  where 
he  attempted  to  reform  the  conversation  of 


The  Adventures  of  Ver  Vert      167 

the  graceless  outcast  by  a  rigorous  course  of 
penance  and  discipline.  Whenever  Ver  Vert 
repeated  the  bargemen's  oaths  the  page 
plunged  the  offender  in  the  cold  water  butt, 
and  then  flung  him  into  a  dark  closet.  He 
retaught  him  the  Ave  Maria,  too,  with  such 
patient  persistency  that,  according  to  the 
grants  of  various  sovereign  Pontiffs  for  such 
repetition,  Philibert  and  Ver  Vert  must  have 
gained  between  them  indulgences  for  up- 
wards of  two  thousand  years.  Philibert 
would  also  have  had  great  credit  with  his 
landlady  for  his  piety,  but  for  the  parrot's 
lamentable  lapses  into  blasphemy,  which  were 
also  attributed  by  horror-stricken  listeners 
to  the  wileful  page. 

With  such  occupation  Philibert  solaced  his 
loneliness  and  fed  his  hopes,  often  varying  the 
sacred  words  with  impassioned  repetition  of 
the  name  of  Marguerite,  for  nine  years  had 
passed  since  Little  Queen  Mistletoe  had  been 
transplanted  to  France,  and  a  young  man's 
heart  was  beating  under  the  page's  velvet 
doublet,  a  heart  eaten  with  envy,  and  with 
love  stronger  than  its  despair. 


1 68  French  Abbeys 

III 

OF  THE  ADVENTURE  WHICH  BEFELL  QUEEN  MISTLETOE 
WITH  A  CATERPILLAR  AND  HOW  THE  REFORMED 
PARROT  CAME  TO  HIS  OWN  AGAIN 

Philibert  seemed  doomed  to  be  the  bearer 
of  unwelcome  messages  to  the  little  Queen, 
and  on  his  next  coming  to  the  convent  he 
brought  one  which  pleased  her  even  less  than 
the  summons  for  the  parrot. 

During  the  years  that  had  drifted  by  while 
Marguerite  had  been  in  seclusion  with  the 
Visitandines  she  had  profited  by  her  oppor- 
tunity for  study  and  had  outstripped  the 
simple  nuns  in  her  acquirements,  so  that 
experts  from  the  outer  world  were  secured 
for  her  further  advancement.  Her  favourite 
teachers  were  Jean  Bourdichon,  illuminator 
and  painter  of  miniatures,  and  Michel  Colomb, 
sculptor,  for  the  young  girl  was  passionately 
fond  of  all  things  beautiful. 

Her  vexation  may  therefore  be  imagined 
when  Philibert  brought  her  word  that  the  two 
artists  were  ordered  to  Nantes,  the  one  to 
enrich  a  Book  of  Hours  for  the  Duchess  of 
Brittany,  and  the  other  to  carve  her  father's 
tomb. 

The  unfortunate  page  had  to  bear  her  pique 
and  to  listen  to  unmerited  reproaches. 


The  Adventures  of  Ver  Vert      169 

"This  Anne  de  Bretagne,"  Marguerite  cried, 
"has  robbed  me  of  everything  which  I  cared 
for.  She  took  my  father  and  Ver  Vert,  and 
now  she  demands  my  best -loved  teachers. 
She  is  a  blight  on  all  my  joys,  a  worm,  a 
caterpillar.  Will  no  one  crush  her  for  me? 
What  will  she  covet  next?  Will  it  be  you, 
Philibert.  Nay,  I  misdoubt  she  has  sub- 
orned you  already,  since  you  only  come  to 
take  my  treasures  to  her." 

The  youth  flushed,  but  answered  proudly: 

"She  can  never  have  me  in  anywise,  for  I 
am  your  true  servitor  until  death,  though  I 
get  naught  for  my  fealty  but  your  displeasure. 
If  I  were  rich  I  would  give  Michel  Colomb 
a  commission  which  would  not  only  take  him 
out  of  the  employ  of  this  grasping  Duchess, 
but  would  fulfil  a  vow  made  long  ago  by  my 
mother,  which  for  my  sake  she  neglected,  to 
the  displeasure  doubtless  of  the  saints.' ' 

"What  was  the  vow,  Philibert?  Tell  me 
and  forgive  my  hasty  tongue." 

"We  were  at  our  hunting  chateau  at  Brou 
in  Savoy,  when  my  father  was  dangerously 
wounded  by  a  boar.  I  shall  never  forget 
my  mother's  shriek  when  they  brought  the 
litter  into  the  chateau  and  she  saw  him,  as 
she  thought,  dying  before  her.      But  Saint 


170  French  Abbeys 

Hubert  was  good,  and  when  she  invoked  him, 
promising  to  build  an  Abbey  where  my  father 
received  his  hurt  if  only  he  recovered,  that 
patron  of  huntsmen  so  aided  the  physicians 
that  my  father  was  presently  well  again." 

1  'And  you  say  that  your  mother's  vow 
was  unfulfilled  for  your  sake,  Philibert.  How 
could  that  be?" 

"It  costs  money,  most  dear  Queen,  to  build 
and  endow  Abbeys,  and,  as  my  father's  re- 
venues were  not  great,  my  mother  laid  aside 
of  her  own  for  me  that  my  future  might  be 
well  assured.  I  could  not  have  come  to 
the  Court  of  the  French  King  nor  have 
known  my  Queen  had  my  mother  not  so 
chosen,  so  I  shall  never  regret  her  choice,  no 
matter  what  misfortune  that  unfulfilled  vow 
may  bring." 

"Bid  Messer  Colomb  come  to  the  cloister," 
said  Marguerite.  "He  is  from  Burgundy,  my 
mother's  country,  and  learned  his  art  by 
carving  my  ancestors'  tombs  in  Dijon,  under 
the  great  master  Claux  Sluter.  He  is  my 
hereditary  vassal,  and  owes  me  service  on  de- 
mand. He  will  do  anything  for  me,  and  he 
shall  enrich  your  mother's  Abbey  with  glorious 
sculpture.  Hast  thou  not  marked  the  ' '  Vision 
of  Saint  Hubert"  over  the  chapel  door  at 


The  Adventures  of  Ver  Vert      171 

Amboise?  He  shall  better  that  work,  noble 
though  it  is,  for  the  Abbey  at  Brou." 

''Nay,  dear  lady,"  pled  Philibert,  ''you 
forget  that  my  mother  has  no  commission  to 
give." 

"But  I — I  have  certain  moneys,  Philibert." 

"Most  dear  and  generous  mistress,  my 
mother  could  not  accept  such  a  gift,  nor  would 
King  Charles  suffer  thee  to  give  it." 

"And  my  father,"  said  Marguerite,  bitterly, 
"is  shortly  to  wed  Anne  de  Bretagne,  and  will 
help  her  rather  than  me.  Said  I  not  that  she 
had  robbed  me  of  everything?" 

"She  may  give  your  father  back  to  you,  my 
Queen,  and  you  to  him,  for  there  are  strange 
rumours  afloat." 

"  What  rumours  ?  "  Marguerite  asked 
eagerly,  but  Philibert  answered  evasively  that 
he  paid  no  attention  to  the  wild  stories  that 
ran  from  mouth  to  mouth,  nor  must  she,  but 
believe  always  that  he  was  her  devoted  knight, 
ready  to  serve  her  in  any  emergency.  He 
turned  her  thoughts  from  his  unfortunate  re- 
mark by  telling  her  how  he  had  found  Ver 
Vert,  and  amused  her  by  an  account  of  his 
trials  in  endeavouring  to  reform  the  reprobate, 
so  that  he  left  her  smiling;  but  after  he  had 
gone  her  thoughts  reverted  to  this  hint  of 


172  French  Abbeys 

strange  rumours.  What  could  they  be  ?  The 
nuns  looked  at  her  strangely,  some  with  less 
of  deference  than  formerly,  and  others  with 
an  unwonted  pity. 

There  was  war  she  knew  between  King 
Charles  and  the  Duchess  Anne,  for  the  King 
as  her  feudal  sovereign  had  insisted  that  the 
Duchess  had  no  right  to  marry  without  his 
consent  and  carry  the  fair  province  of  Brit- 
tany out  of  France  to  Maximilian  of  Austria, 
and  Marguerite's  father  had,  as  in  duty  bound, 
sent  Austrian  troops  to  support  his  betrothed 
in  her  stand  against  the  King  of  France.  It 
was  a  peculiar  position  in  which  Marguerite 
found  herself,  with  her  father  at  war  with  her 
affianced  husband ;  but  she  could  not  see  how 
she  was  to  blame  or  in  what  way  her  own  for- 
tunes could  be  affected  by  these  circumstances. 
She  was  heartily  with  Charles  in  this  quarrel, 
and  hoped  that  he  would  compel  her  father 
to  relinquish  the  Breton  Duchess,  whom  she 
had  never  desired  for  a  stepmother;  and  in 
some  way,  inexplicable  to  Marguerite,  Anne  de 
Bretagne  knew  this  and  hated  her  cordially. 

Marguerite's  two  teachers  passed  into  the 
employ  of  the  Duchess,  but  Jean  Bourdichon, 
returning  presently  on  some  errand  to  Nevers, 
showed  Marguerite  the  illuminations  for  the 


The  Adventures  of  Ver  Vert      173 

Book  of  Hours  which  he  was  executing  for 
his  new  patroness.  They  were  indeed  very 
beautiful.  Each  page  was  bordered  with  a 
plant  in  bloom  or  in  fruitage  exquisitely 
painted  on  a  panel  of  beaten  gold.  In  and 
out  of  the  foliage  fluttered  gauzy-winged 
dragon-flies  or  honey-laden  bees,  while  snails 
and  beetles,  gorgeous  butterflies  and  velvety 
moths,  crickets  and  grasshoppers,  and  all  the 
myriad  insect  life  of  the  garden,  with  birds 
and  little  animals  of  the  wild-wood,  disported 
themselves  among  the  flowers. 

Marguerite  exclaimed  with  delight  and  ad- 
miration as  she  noted  the  exquisite  pains  with 
which  each  detail  was  depicted, 

M  Finished  down  to  the  leaf  and  the  snail, 
Down  to  the  eyes  on  the  peacock's  tail." 

Suddenly  she  started  violently. 

"What  does  this  mean,  Maitre  Jean?"  she 
cried.  "A  branch  of  mistletoe,  my  own  de- 
vice, eaten  across  by  a  furry  caterpillar? 
Who  told  her  that  I  called  her  that?" 

"Not  I,  noble  lady,  not  I;  but  some  one 
must  have  told  her,  for  she  bade  me  show  it 
to  you,  and  ask  you  to  mark  not  alone  that 
the  loathly  worm  has  fangs  to  gnaw,  but  that 


i74  French  Abbeys 

it  changes  in  the  fulness  of  time  to  a  glorious 
butterfly." 

'  'So  this  is  a  studied  insult.  I  wonder, 
Jean  Bourdichon,  that  you  had  the  hardihood 
to  bring  me  her  boasts  and  threats." 

"Alas!  sweet  mistress,  I  am  not  mine  own 
master;  but  take  this  as  a  warning,  for  indeed 
if  no  one  else  has  told  you  what  plots  are 
hatching,  it  were  well  you  were  prepared,  even 
though  I  lose  your  favour  in  the  thankless 
duty." 

"Say  on,  Jean  Bourdichon,"  the  girl  com- 
manded bravely,  but  the  blood  forsook  her 
heart  when  she  knew  that  King  Charles  had 
met  his  rebellious  subject,  Anne  de  Bretagne, 
and  that  they  had  concluded  a  treaty,  whereby 
in  spite  of  the  fact  that  each  was  otherwise 
contracted,  all  of  their  differences  were  to  be 
happily  adjusted  by  speedy  marriage. 

The  astounding  news  was  quite  true,  and 
the  repudiated  Queen  Mistletoe  was  shortly  re- 
turned with  little  ceremony  to  her  equally 
humiliated  father.  Philibert,  who  had  sought 
and  been  denied  permission  to  join  her  modest 
escort,  attempting  to  do  so  secretly,  was  ar- 
rested and  detained  in  the  donjon  of  the 
castle  of  Amboise  for  several  weeks.  When 
set  at  liberty  he  learned  that  the  Emperor 


Vtftvdunratm* 


T&tumattig$tt;ohx(v&' tilth 
mane  aau&w  vxm  meaty 

attu*:iWi\n\niUiHdmtitw 

<mttu&4Mtymn&& 

faw^d&&fitty 
atttewmumthiti&M  tttfyty 


-^v  z&*$&&^* 


The  Adventures  of  Ver  Vert      175 

Maximilian,  stung  to  the  quick  by  the  affront 
put  upon  him  by  the  French  King,  had  lost 
no  time  in  concluding  an  alliance  with  Spain, 
and  had  affianced  Marguerite  to  the  Infant, 
the  son  of  Ferdinand  and  Isabella.  The 
Princess  was  even  now  on  her  way  to  Madrid 
with  her  brother;  it  was  to  be  a  double 
marriage,  for  Maximilian's  son  Philip  was  to 
wed  the  Infanta  Joana,  and  the  Netherlands, 
which  they  had  together  inherited  from  their 
mother,  were  now  destined  to  pass  under  the 
cruel  dominion  of  Spain. 

But  Marguerite's  voyage  was  so  tempestu- 
ous as  to  be  considered  ill-omened,  and  she 
was  doomed  to  return  shortly,  not  indeed  re- 
jected, but  widowed,  for  the  bridegroom 
expectant  sickened  and  died. 

Broken-hearted,  as  it  was  supposed,  by  her 
double  disappointment,  but  in  reality  with 
hopeless  longing  and  thwarted  first  love,  the 
Princess  announced  her  intention  of  taking 
the  veil,  a  decision  little  to  the  liking  of  her 
imperial  father. 

Nothing  but  marriage,  he  argued,  could 
drive  such  a  notion  from  her  brain,  and  there 
came  a  day  when  he  announced  that  he  had 
arranged  a  new  alliance  for  her,  not  with  a 
king,  indeed,  but  with  the  reigning  Duke  of 


176  French  Abbeys 

Savoy,  whose  possessions  adjoined  her  own, 
and  united  with  them  would  make  a  fair 
kingdom. 

Marguerite  shook  her  head. 

"I  have  been  too  many  times  betrothed.  I 
shall  never  be  wedded." 

"That  you  shall,  my  daughter;  the  agree- 
ment is  already  signed,  for  the  Duke  made  the 
first  advances,  and  that  immediately  on  his 
unexpected  accession  to  the  crown  of  Savoy. 
On  my  word  he  has  sent  you  a  strange  be- 
trothal present.  His  envoy  waits.  Will  you 
receive  him?" 

"Nay,"  replied  Marguerite.  "Write  the 
Duke  that  I  thank  him,  but  it  may  not  be. 
See,  I  have  written  my  own  epitaph.  Let  it 
be  my  answer  to  the  Duke : 

11  '  Though  twice  I  was  wedded,  unfortunate  I, 
My  doom  it  was  written,  a  maiden  I  die.'  "  * 

As  she  spoke  there  arose  an  unseemly 
clamour  in  the  antechamber ;  prayers  mingled 
with  imprecations,  and  then,  more  startling 
still,  the  Ave,  with  Marguerite's  name  sub- 
stituted for  Mary's,  repeated  with  a  tender 
intonation: 

1  Epitaph  written  for  herself  by  Marguerite: 
"  Cigit  Margot,  la  gente  demoiselle 
Qui  eut  deux  maris  et  se  morut  pucelle." 


The  Adventures  of  Ver  Vert      1 77 

"Ave,  Marguerita,  regina  angelorum! 
Ave,  Marguerita,  domina  ccelorumf 
Ave,  Marguerita/     Ave,  Marguerita! 
Gaude,  virgo  gloriosa, 
Gaude,  gaude,  Marguerita!" 

"What  sacrilege  is  this?"  cried  the  Em- 
peror. But  Marguerite,  starting  to  her  feet, 
cried : 

"It  is  Ver  Vert!  Vent,  vent,  Ver  Vert! 
Vent,  Philibert,  vent,  Philibert." 

A  young  man,  richly  dressed  in  green  velvet, 
bearing  a  parrot  on  his  wrist,  entered  and 
swept  the  floor  with  his  jewelled  cap.  It  was 
indeed  Philibert,  now  Duke  of  Savoy,  who  had 
come  as  his  own  ambassador.  But  Ver  Vert, 
the  long  desired,  was  forgotten  in  that  meet- 
ing, and  hopped  disconsolately  from  chair  to 
chair,  fluttering  his  wings  and  shrieking,  now 
with  a  supernatural  imitation  of  Marguerite's 
own  voice  that  Philibert  was  her  lumen 
cordium,  now  with  an  equally  successful 
parody  of  the  Duke's  more  manly  vocalisa- 
tion, declaring  that  Marguerite  was  the  queen 
of  angels  and  mistress  of  heaven. 

The  reunited  lovers  did  not  even  hear  these 
apposite  remarks,  learned  from  their  own 
utterances,  but  gazed  enraptured  into  one 
another's  eyes  until  Ver  Vert,  disgusted  at 


178  French  Abbeys 

their  neglect,  changed  his  role  to  that  of  the 
profane  bargemen,  and  the  air  corruscated 
with  maledictions. 

In  spite  of  his  sad  lapses  into  language  unfit 
for  ears  polite,  Ver  Vert  lived  thereafter  the 
life  of  a  pampered  favourite,  and  when  he 
died  (see  Note  A) ,  as  it  was  said,  of  grief  occa- 
sioned by  Marguerite's  absence,  his  death  and 
devotion  were  celebrated  by  the  court  poet 
of  Savoy  in  a  heroic  poem  of  many  stanzas, 
called  Le  Triomphe  de  VAmant  Vert. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  CHURCH  OF  BROU 

On  her  palfrey  white  the  Duchess 
Sat  and  watched  her  working  train, 

Flemish  carvers,  Lombard  gilders, 
German  masons,  smiths  from  Spain. 

Clad  in  black,  on  her  white  palfrey, 

Her  old  architect  beside, 
There  they  found  her  in  the  mountains 

Morn  and  noon  and  eventide. 

Round  the  tombs  the  carved  stone  fretwork 

Was  at  Eastertide  put  on, 
Then  the  Duchess  closed  her  labours 

And  she  died  at  the  St.  John. 

Matthew  Arnold. 

IN  the  obscure  town  of  Brou  in  northern 
■  Savoy  stands  possibly  the  most  beautiful 
example  of  late  Gothic  architecture  to  be 
found  in  all  France.  It  came  into  being  in 
that  transitional  period  in  the  early  sixteenth 

179 


180  French  Abbeys 

century,  when  French  genius  was  fired  to 
emulate,  not  copy,  the  newly  imported  Italian 
Renaissance. 

This  exquisite  church  has  been  sung  by  en- 
thusiasts, and  analysed  as  a  model  of  its  kind 
in  scientific  monographs.  It  was  so  thor- 
oughly appreciated  even  at  the  time  of  the 
Revolution,  when  so  much  that  was  beautiful 
was  ruthlessly  destroyed,  that  it  was  one  of 
the  few  monuments  protected  and  ordained 
to  be  kept  up  at  the  expense  of  the  state. 

It  is  only  the  deserted  chapel  of  a  vanished 
and  forgotten  Benedictine  Abbey,  but  wealth 
was  lavished  here  without  stint,  and  the  most 
skilful  citizens  laboured  together  for  years 
to  make  it  the  masterpiece  which  it  is. 

All  the  lines  in  the  construction  of  this 
marvel  flow  together  with  the  grace  of  living, 
growing  things  culminating  in  curves  not  only 
delight -giving  in  themselves,  but  governed  by 
exact  law,  while  every  detail  is  enriched  with 
a  lacework  of  intricate  carving  not  to  be 
rivalled  in  prodigality  by  the  ornament  upon 
the  jewel-box  of  a  Princess. 

And  such  a  casket  it  really  is,  built  to  con- 
tain the  greatest  treasure  of  an  Emperor's 
daughter. 

We  read  that  after  three  years  of  blissful 


The  Church  of  Brou  181 

wedded  life,  the  Duke  of  Savoy,  Philibert  le 
Beau,  was  killed  while  hunting,  and  that  his 
widow,  Marguerite  of  Austria,  devoted  the  re- 
mainder of  her  life  to  building  him  one  of  the 
most  beautiful  monuments  in  all  the  world. 

That  she  succeeded  few  who  have  seen  the 
Church  of  Brou  will  deny.  ' '  How  great  must 
have  been  the  love  of  this  woman  for  this 
man,"  is  the  thought  of  every  one  who  stands 
beside  their  glorious  tombs. 

It  was  the  sculptor  Michel  Colomb  who 
fashioned  them,  the  same  who  designed  the 
tomb  at  Nantes  for  the  Duke  of  Brittany,  at 
the  command  of  his  daughter,  the  Duchess 
Anne.  But  at  Brou  he  returned  to  an  earlier 
style,  which  he  had  learned  while  working  on 
the  ' '  sepultures  de  jeuz  messeigneurs  les  dues  de 
Bourgoigne"  when  he  was  the  apprentice  of 
Maitre  Claux  Sluter  at  Dijon;  he  was  working 
now  for  a  descendant  of  those  nobles  who 
wrote  "Rash"  and  "Bold  "  and  "Sans  Peur" 
after  their  names,  no  man  gainsaying  their 
right  to  those  titles. 

In  the  centre  of  the  choir  stands  the  mag- 
nificent double  tomb  of  Philibert.  Within 
the  lower  portion,  partly  concealed  by  the 
rich  canopy,  his  corpse  lies  naked  and  stark, 
as  was  the  ghastly  custom  of  the  time,   a 


1 82  French  Abbeys 

fashion  so  startlingly  followed  in  the  tombs  of 
the  Abbey  of  St.  Denis.  But  upon  the  upper 
story,  as  it  were  on  a  royal  couch,  he  lies  as 
in  sleep  regally  robed,  while  weeping  loves 
hold  his  helmet  and  gaze  mournfully  at  his 
beautiful  face. 

The  Antinous  of  his  time,  he  was  called,  and 
the  resemblance  to  the  demigod  of  the  Vatican 
is  especially  striking  in  the  lovely  curves  of  the 
mouth  and  chin.  His  face  is  turned  to  the 
left,  where  Marguerite's  own  tomb  was  placed, 
like  his  own  in  general  design,  for  she,  too,  is 
shown  in  state  robes,  and  in  the  alcove  be- 
neath in  a  simple  shroud  over  which  her  long 
hair  ripples  to  her  feet  in  glorious  abundance. 

Her  motto  is  carved  upon  a  twisted  band- 
erole, "Fortune,  infortune,  forte  une"  ("In 
fortune  and  misfortune  one  woman  is  brave"). 
It  was  no  empty  boast,  as  the  employ  of  her 
years  of  widowhood  in  wise  government  of 
the  Netherlands  testified.  Philibert's  motto, 
"  fert,"  many  times  repeated,  was  that  of  the 
Order  of  the  Annunciade.  The  meaning  of  the 
letters  is  a  mystery.  Some  maintain  that  they 
are  the  initials  of  the  words,  "Fortitudo  ejus 
Rhodum  tenuit  "  ("His  valour  held  Rhodes  ")> 
in  allusion  to  the  defence  of  that  island  by  an 
early  Duke  of  Savoy.     Lately  the  letters  lent 


The  Church  of  Brou  183 

themselves  to  the  motto  ' '  Fiat  Emmanuel  Rex 
tuus  "  ("Make  Emmanuel  thy  King  ") ;  but  it 
is  very  possible  that  they  simply  form  the 
Latin  word  for  "He  brings," — benefits  of 
various  kinds  being  understood.  To  Mar- 
guerite he  brought  joy  and  love  for  three  years 
only,  but  the  husband  who  died  at  twenty- 
four  was  mourned  all  her  life. 

Following  established  custom,  Philibert 
should  have  been  entombed  in  the  royal  Ab- 
bey of  Hautecombe  on  the  lovely  lake  of  Le 
Bourget — for  this  had  been  the  burial-place 
of  the  Princes  of  Savoy  from  time  immemorial. 

But  such  community  even  in  death  could 
not  be  endured  by  Marguerite.  She  must 
have  her  dead  all  to  herself,  recognising  the 
right  of  but  one  other  to  share  his  long  home, 
as  living  she  had  shared  his  love.  For  there 
is  another  tomb  in  the  church,  a  little  apart 
from  the  others,  in  a  canopied  niche  on  the 
right  hand  of  Philibert.  It  is  that  of  his 
mother,  Margaret  of  Bourbon,  who  had  vowed 
to  build  an  abbey  on  this  spot  on  the  recovery 
of  her  husband  from  a  wound  received  in 
hunting.  She  had  never  carried  out  that  vow, 
and  when  her  son  was  killed  in  the  same  way, 
his  widow  may  well  have  imagined  that  Saint 
Hubert  claimed  his  dues. 


1 84  French  Abbeys 

During  her  long  residence  in  France,  as  the 
betrothed  of  the  Dauphin,  Marguerite  had 
learned  to  appreciate  that  wonderful  revival 
of  art  of  which  Michel  Colomb  was  one  of  the 
foremost  examples.  Anne  de  Bretagne  and 
her  husband  Charles  the  Eighth  now  posed 
as  the  most  munificent  of  art  patrons;  and 
Marguerite's  love  for  beauty  was  only  equalled 
by  her  hatred  for  these  two :  the  man  who  had 
repudiated  her,  and  the  woman  who  was  her 
successful  rival.  She  would  not  be  outdone 
by  them,  and  Michel  Colomb  was  ordered  to 
surpass  all  work  which  he  had  previously  exe- 
cuted under  their  patronage.  So  that  hatred 
and  mortified  pride  joined  hands  with  love 
and  sorrow  and  piety  in  building  this  abbey 
church. 

Another  shared  with  the  King  and  Queen 
of  France  in  Marguerite's  resentment.  The 
great  Cardinal,  George  d'Amboise,  had 
brought  about  their  marriage,  and  was  now 
Prime  Minister  of  the  kingdom.  He,  too,  was 
a  patron  of  art,  and  was  building  at  this  time 
his  superb  Chateau  of  Gaillon.  It  was  Mar- 
guerite's pleasure  to  call  Michel  Colomb  and 
other  of  his  favourite  artists  from  his  employ, 
and  to  thwart  him  not  only  in  his  private 
fancies   but   also   in   diplomatic   matters   of 


The  Church  of  Brou  185 

great  moment.  She  persuaded  Henry  VIII. 
of  England  to  enter  into  a  league  with 
her  against  France,  and  outwitted  Cardinal 
d'Amboise  in  the  Treaty  of  Cambrai,  and 
Louise  de  Savoie  (mother  of  Louis  XII.)  in 
the  Paix  des  Dames.  As  Gamier  wrote  of 
her:  "No  more  active  or  intelligent  minister 
[for  the  Emperor  Charles  V.]  could  have  been 
found,  endowed  with  genius,  trained  in  ad- 
versity, the  most  dangerous  and  obstinate 
of  the  enemies  of  France.' ' 

In  the  intervals  of  her  many  duties  she 
visited  the  growing  abbey  church.  It  was 
more  than  her  recreation  from  state  affairs, 
it  was  her  ruling  passion.  Her  architect  was 
Maistre  Loys  Van  Boglem,  the  best  in  the 
Low  Countries,  and  her  nephew,  the  Em- 
peror Charles  V.  (for  whom  she  governed  the 
Netherlands  so  well),  sent  her  the  cleverest 
artificers  of  Spain  and  Austria  and  Italy. 
The  radiant  stained  glass  alone,  or  the  mar- 
vellous wood-carving  of  the  choir  stalls  would 
have  made  the  church  famous.  Philibert  had 
died  in  1504.  Marguerite  began  her  task  two 
years  later,  and  continued  it  for  twenty-four 
years.  At  last  it  was  finished,  at  a  cost  of  two 
million  two  hundred  thousand  francs,  and 
twelve  friars  were  installed  in  the  little  Abbey 


1 86  French  Abbeys 

to  pray  for  the  souls  of  those  whose  ashes  it 
enshrined. 

It  is  said  that  Marguerite  was  perusing  a 
holy  book,  the  Chronicles  of  Fontevrault,  when 
the  news  was  brought  her  that  the  Abbey  was 
completed.     She  had  just  read  the  passage: 

"Understand,  my  love,  that  I  am  in  great 
peace,  but  I  know  not  how  to  enter  into  ful- 
ness of  joy  without  thee.  Prepare  thee  and 
come  at  thy  quickest,  that  we  may  present 
ourselves  together  before  the  Lord." 

Looking  up  from  her  book  the  Duchess 
greeted  her  old  architect,  and  stepping  im- 
pulsively forward  threw  to  the  floor  and 
stepped  upon  a  wine-glass  which  a  page  was 
offering  her.  The  broken  glass  cut  through 
the  delicate  satin  slipper,  inflicting  a  wound 
which  speedily  gangrened.  Amputation  was 
considered  necessary,  and  a  preparation  of 
opium  was  administered.  But  from  that 
sleep  Marguerite  never  woke,  and  Michel 
Colomb  prepared  her  couch  by  the  side  of  the 
lover  of  her  youth,  in  the  abbey-church  of 
Brou. 

"  So  rest  for  ever — rest  O  princely  Pair! 
Or  if  ye  wake  let  it  be  then  when  rain 
Doth  rustlingly  above  your  heads  complain 
On  the  smooth  leaden  roof,  and  on  the  walls, 


o 

CO  ■*» 

<  u 

O  c 

h-  £ 

U  g 

<  ° 


The  Church  of  Brou  187 

Shedding  her  pensive  light  at  intervals 

The  moon  through  the  clerestory  windows  shines, 

And  the  wind  washes  through  the  mountain  pines. 

Then  gazing  up  'mid  the  dim  pillars  high, 

The  foliaged  marble  forest  where  ye  lie, 

"Hush,"  ye  will  say,  "it  is  eternity. 

This  is  the  glimmering  verge  of  Heaven,  and  these 

The  columns  of  the  heavenly  palaces." 

And  in  the  sweeping  of  the  wind  your  ear 

The  passage  of  the  Angels'  wings  will  hear, 

And  on  the  lichen-crusted  leads  above 

The  rustle  of  the  eternal  rain  of  love." 

Matthew  Arnold. 


CHAPTER  IX 


THE  FLAGEOLET  OF  SAINT  BRUNO 


A  LEGEND  OF  LA  GRANDE  CHARTREUSE 

I 

Knock;  pass  the  wicket!     Thou  art  come 
To  the  Carthusians'  world-famed  home, 
Where  ghost-like  in  the  deepening  night 
Cowl'd  forms  brush  by  in  gleaming  white; 
The  chapel  where  no  organ's  peal 
Invests  the  stern  and  naked  prayer; 
With  penitential  cries  they  kneel 
And  wrestle,  rising  then  with  bare 
And  white  uplifted  faces  stand 
Passing  the  Host  from  hand  to  hand. 

Stanza  from  La  Grande  Chartreuse, 
Matthew  Arnold. 


T 


3E  silent  courts"  of  La  Grande  Char- 
treuse echoed  with  unwonted  con- 
fusion on  a  certain  spring  morning  of  the 
year  1562,  as  hurrying  feet,  smothered  ejacula- 

188 


The  Flageolet  of  Saint  Bruno      189 

tions — not  of  prayer, — and  terrified  faces  pro- 
claimed the  panic  of  the  peaceful  monks. 
Until  now  through  all  the  tempests  of  war 
which  had  beaten  upon  France  the  monastery 
had  remained  inviolate,  protected  by  its  in- 
accessibility. All  around  it  were  the  bastions 
of  the  Alpine  ranges,  while  the  wild  beasts 
were  the  sentinels  of  the  monks  and  the 
avalanches  their  artillery. 

And  what  could  pillaging  soldiers  hope  to 
find  in  this  austere  retreat  ?  The  Carthusians 
followed  the  strict  rule  of  poverty  which  Saint 
Bruno  had  enjoined  upon  them.  Naked 
stone  corridors  connected  the  tiny  houses  and 
garden  plots  in  which  each  member  of  the 
community  laboured  and  prayed  in  the  most 
rigorous  self-denial  and  in  absolute  solitude. 
Even  the  apartment  of  the  General1  of  the 
order  exhibited  the  same  severity.  And  yet 
the  information  which  had  just  been  brought 
them  was  true.  Captain  Biron  had  set  out 
from  Grenoble  that  morning  with  the  avowed 
purpose  of  sacking  the  Abbey  of  La  Grande 
Chartreuse,  and  the  ferocious  Baron  des 
Adrets  was  following  with  the  main  body  of 
the  Huguenot  troops. 

It  was  the  too  famous  Chartreuse  liqueur 

1  The  Superior  of  the  Cathusians  bears  the  title  of  General. 


190  French  Abbeys 

and  the  exaggerated  report  of  riches  amassed 
by  its  sale  which  had  attracted  the  plunderers. 
The  common  soldiers  had  visions  of  cellars 
filled  with  casks  and  tuns,  as 

"  Silent  and  brown  externally 
As  any  Carthusian  monk  might  be." 

The  leaders  thought  of  the  hidden  gold 
which  torture  could  reveal,  and  the  Baron  des 
Adrets  hoped  that  the  monks  might  be  un- 
willing to  deliver  it  on  first  demand,  for  in 
cruelty  he  was  a  madman,  his  mania  taking  a 
fixed  form,  a  fiendish  delight  in  watching 
human  beings  fall  from  a  great  height. 
When  a  youth  he  had  seen  a  friend,  with  whom 
he  was  hunting,  roll  over  the  edge  of  a  cliff  in 
the  embrace  of  a  bear.  The  spectacle  had 
naturally  made  an  immense  impression  upon 
him,  but,  strange  to  say,  not  one  of  horror.  It 
thrilled  him  with  such  pleasure  that  he  caused 
it  to  be  re-enacted  many  times,  forcing  the 
garrisons  of  surrendered  fortresses  to  leap  from 
the  platforms  of  their  highest  towers,  while 
he  laughed  at  the  contortions  of  the  falling 
bodies. 

Little  wonder  that  the  monks  of  La  Grande 
Chartreuse  were  panic-stricken,  since  this 
monster  was  their  expected  guest. 


The  Flageolet  of  Saint  Bruno     191 

The  very  reverend  Dom  Jerome,  General 
of  the  order,  dispersed  the  community,  send- 
ing them  in  groups  to  different  Carthusian 
houses,  while  he  himself  remained  to  face  the 
enemy,  as  he  fancied,  alone.  But  as  he 
closed  the  Abbey  gate  on  the  last  of  the  fugi- 
tives, a  young  monk  called  Aloysius  came 
from  the  porter's  lodge. 

"I  will  keep  the  gate,  my  Father,"  he  said, 
"and  will  endeavour  to  entertain  these  pil- 
grims suitably.  I  beseech  you  to  preserve  to 
us  your  valuable  life.  Fadet,  the  goatherd, 
who  distanced  the  Huguenots  in  bringing  us 
the  news  of  their  coming,  knows  every  path 
across  the  mountains,  and  will  guide  you  over 
Les  Echelles  to  the  Commandery  of  the 
Knights  of  St.  John.  You  little  know  to 
what  a  devil  incarnate  you  submit  yourself  in 
awaiting  the  approach  of  Des  Adrets." 

"I  know,"  replied  Dom  Jerome,  "for  I 
know  your  history.  And  since  you  have 
already  experienced  the  cruelty  of  this  man, 
why  do  you  remain?  Is  it  to  protect  me 
from  danger  and  insult,  or  is  it  that  you  may 
repay  evil  with  forgiveness?" 

The  young  man  met  the  gaze  of  his  superior 
doggedly  and  shook  his  head.  ' '  I  am  pow- 
erless to   prevent  your   lingering,"  said   the 


192  French  Abbeys 

General  sadly.  "A  great  crisis  in  your  life 
is  approaching.  Let  me  at  the  close  of  this 
ordeal  take  you  to  my  heart  as  my  son." 

Aloysius  knelt.  His  face  bent  toward  the 
earth  was  convulsed  with  emotion,  but  he 
made  no  reply.  His  superior  had  demanded 
too  much. 

No  one  at  La  Grande  Chartreuse  but  Dom 
Jerome  knew  the  history  of  the  young  monk. 
The  General  had  brought  him  to  the  monas- 
tery on  his  return  from  a  temporary  absence. 
For  months  even  the  servitor  who  passed 
the  food  through  the  wickets  was  not  aware 
of  the  presence  of  a  guest  in  the  apartment  of 
his  superior,  but  knowing  how  abstemious 
was  the  habit  of  the  General,  rejoiced  that  his 
appetite  had  returned,  and  that  he  now  ate 
like  a  Christian.  It  was  long  before  the 
stranger  was  prepared  to  accept  the  peace  of 
the  cloister ;  but  a  day  came  when  he  fell  at 
the  feet  of  his  preserver  and  begged  to  be  ad- 
mitted into  the  Order,  and  the  brotherhood 
were  ware  of  a  novice  with  a  face  expressive 
of  deep  bitterness  disfigured  by  recent  burns. 

It  was  at  the  siege  of  Valence  by  the 
Huguenots  that  the  Baron  des  Adrets  had  set 
his  seal  on  the  countenance  of  the  young  man. 

The  city,  over-confident  in  the  strength  of 


The  Flageolet  of  Saint  Bruno     193 

its  fortifications,  had  laughed  at  the  attacking 
Calvinists,  and  on  the  very  night  on  which  it 
was  captured  a  ball  was  in  progress,  in  an  old 
palace  whose  foundations  were  bathed  by  the 
Rhone.  All  of  the  younger  members  of  the 
Catholic  nobility  were  present,  and  among 
them  an  officer  in  the  command  of  the  Due 
de  Guise,  who  was  to  be  known  later  as 
Brother  Aloysius.  With  him  was  his  be- 
trothed, the  beautiful  daughter  of  the  Comte 
de  la  Mothe. 

The  attack  had  been  made  in  another  quar- 
ter of  the  city,  and  the  young  people,  accus- 
tomed to  the  sound  of  cannonading,  had  not 
realised  in  the  midst  of  their  festivity  that 
Valence  had  been  taken  by  assault.  As  the 
Huguenots  marched  toward  the  brilliantly 
lighted  chateau  Des  Adrets  was  asked  by  one 
of  his  captains  in  what  way  the  dancing  was 
to  be  stopped. 

''Not  only  let  them  dance,"  he  replied, 
"but  force  them  to  do  so.  Do  you  see  that 
balcony  overhanging  the  river?  Remove  the 
iron  balustrade — "  He  whispered  further 
orders  in  his  subordinate's  ear,  and  then 
gloatingly  watched  their  execution  from  a 
small  boat  in  midstream. 

His    soldiers    entered    the    ballroom,    the 


194  French  Abbeys 

dances  were  interrupted  for  an  instant,  then 
while  the  heavy  balustrade  fell  into  the  river 
the  musicians  struck  up  a  quicker  measure, 
and  the  waltzers,  driven  by  the  pikemen 
through  the  open  casements,  whirled  down- 
ward to  their  death. 

The  captain  added  a  brilliant  touch  to  the 
spectacle.  As  the  young  girls  passed  him  he 
set  fire  with  a  torch  to  their  filmy  dresses, 
and  they  shot  like  circling  fireworks  into  the 
black  waters. 

Aloysius  and  his  betrothed  had  fallen  thus, 
locked  in  each  other's  arms.  So,  in  the  bleak 
morning,  they  were  found,  cast  upon  the  bank 
farther  down  the  stream,  Aloysius  uncon- 
scious, severely  burned,  but  still  clasping  to 
his  breast  the  charred  corpse  of  his  beloved. 

II 

Lord,  I  have  fasted,  I  have  prayed, 
And  sackcloth  has  my  girdle  been. 

To  purge  my  soul  I  have  essayed 
With  hunger  blank  and  vigil  keen. 

O  God  of  Mercy!     Why  am  I 

Still  haunted  by  the  self  I  fly? 

R.  H.  Froude. 

It  was  in  this  sore  trouble  that  Dom  Jerome 
had  found  the  young  man,  and  had  brought 


The  Flageolet  of  Saint  Bruno      195 


him  to  La  Grande  Chartreuse,  in  the  hope 
that  the  grandeur  of  the  encircling  mountains, 
the  calm  of  solitude  and  silence,  would  work 
their  healing  influence  upon  his  tortured  spirit 
and  prepare  it  for  the  ministrations  of  re- 
ligion. And  surely  this  was  no  baseless  dream, 
for  the  most  unimpressible  of  tourists  who 
visits  La  Grande  Chartreuse  to-day  cannot 
fail  to  be  profoundly  moved  by  the  beauty 
and  sublimity  of  its  long  approach. 

As  his  open  carriage  plunges  into  the  twi- 
light of  the  heavily  wooded  gorge,  tapestried 
with  luxuriant  moss,  the  repose  of  the  ever- 
lasting hills  settles  upon  him,  the  charm  deep- 
ening into  mystery  and  a  haunting  sense  of 
the  occult  and  supernatural. 

For  startling  surprises  are  discovered  at 
every  turn  of  the  road;  now  the  Bridge  of 
Saint  Bruno  springs  across  the  ravine  far 
above  our  heads,  its  single  arch  abutting  from 
opposite  crags, — and  now  the  road  is  tunnelled 
on  one  side  under  the  overhanging  cliff,  or 
built  out  upon  the  other,  a  narrow  shelf  above 
the  precipice. 

The  cliffs  close  more  narrowly  upon  the  de- 
file as  he  ascends,  the  precipice  sinks  to  an 
abyss  which  his  brain  refuses  to  fathom,  its 
frothing  torrent  which  no  man  or  horse  could 


196  French  Abbeys 

stem  showing  as  a  narrow  ribbon;  while  the 
firs  extend  their  blasted  arms  at  more  gro- 
tesque angles;  and  the  pines,  shooting  higher 
in  a  vain  attempt  to  reach  the  light,  cast 
waving  shadows, — which  seem  to  be  those  of 
dryads  flitting  noiselessly  at  his  approach. 
All  the  poetry  that  may  lie  latent  in  his  soul 
is  stirred  as  by  enchantment.  La.  Grande 
Chartreuse  has  taken  him  to  her  heart,  and 
he  hears  in  imagination  the  chant  of  the  Pil- 
grims as  in  Tannhduser,  and  feels  that  he  is 
himself  a  pilgrim  to  a  remarkable  region, 
where  enthusiasts  have  believed  that  they 
saw  visions  and  have  led  lives  which  were 
themselves  miracles. 

Nor  is  the  first  view  of  the  Abbey  an  anti- 
climax to  this  impressive  prelude. 

The  sharp  peaked  roofs  of  the  long  line  of 
chateau-like  buildings,  recalling  those  of  the 
older  portion  of  Fontainebleau,  are  backed 
against  a  bleak  escarpment  of  naked  rock  (for 
the  vast  belt  of  dark  green  forest  lies  for  the 
most  part  far  beneath),  and  the  serrated  sil- 
houette of  grey  mass  behind  the  monastery 
seems  to  repeat  and  intensify  its  pointed  roofs. 
It  is  as  though  another  chateau,  of  giants  or 
demigods,  held  the  Abbey  as  a  nursling  in  its 
embrace,  protecting  but  not  imprisoning  it; 


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The  Flageolet  of  Saint  Bruno      197 

for  the  range  sinks  suddenly  to  give  a  mag- 
nificent view  of  "the  Grand  Som,"  whose 
white  glacier  glitters  like  a  staircase  to  heaven. 

Gradually  the  potency  of  this  marvellous 
environment  restored  the  mind  of  the  novice 
Aloysius  to  its  normal  poise,  and  the  strenuous 
labour  of  felling  trees  contributed  to  his  phy- 
sical cure.  But  his  superior,  Dom  Jerome, 
who  agonised  over  every  soul  in  his  care 
"until  Christ  should  be  formed  in  it,  "  was  not 
satisfied  with  the  spiritual  attitude  of  his 
ward.  He  could  see  that  he  was  funda- 
mentally unchanged,  his  calm  was  merely 
self-control,  and  beneath  the  surface  love  and 
hatred  still  burned  like  fires  in  a  smouldering 
volcano. 

The  ascent  of  the  Grand  Som  was  permitted 
once  a  month  to  every  member  of  the  com- 
munity. ' '  For  the  prospect  from  its  summit, ' ' 
says  a  Carthusian  writer,  "of  dome  rising 
beyond  dome  like  an  encampment  of  arch- 
angels, rarely  failed  to  fill  the  beholder  with 
heavenly  ecstasy." 

Aloysius  climbed  the  mountain  more  fre- 
quently than  his  associates,  but  experienced 
no  religious  transports.  He  confessed  to 
Dom  Jerome  that  had  Saint  Bruno,  instead  of 
fleeing  from  the  world,  sought  a  spot  in  which 


198  French  Abbeys 

his  heart  must  find  loneliness  most  intoler- 
able and  cry  out  most  passionately  for  its  be- 
loved he  could  not  have  made  a  better  choice. 

"You  are  still  self-centred,  my  son,"  said 
the  General  kindly.  "You  are  absorbed  in 
your  own  grief.  Nothing  can  extricate  you 
from  that  slough  but  a  contemplation  of  the 
sufferings  of  the  Saviour.' ' 

Aloysius  performed  mechanically  the  pen- 
ances imposed  upon  him.  The  Via  Cruets  and 
midnight  vigils  before  the  Crucified  left  him 
alike  with  dry  eyes  and  a  heart  of  stone. 
Dom  Jerome  was  disappointed,  but  not  dis- 
heartened. Another  chord  remained  to  be 
touched,  that  of  human  sympathy,  and  Aloy- 
sius was  sent  to  minister  in  a  hospice  for 
lepers.  But  the  loathsome  objects  which  he 
saw  there  filled  him  with  such  revolt  against 
a  Deity  who  could  permit  such  hideous  suffer- 
ing that  Dom  Jerome  hastily  remanded  him 
to  his  wood-chopping.  The  heart  of  the 
reverend  Father  in  God  was  filled  with  acute 
sadness,  for  he  had  now  exhausted  all  the 
remedies  in  his  pharmacopoeia  for  the  cure  of 
souls ;  but  at  this  very  juncture  he  noted  the 
change  which  he  had  longed  for  in  the  de- 
meanour of  his  ward,  and  wondered  as  to  its 
cause,  until  the  monk  in  charge  of  the  timber- 


The  Flageolet  of  Saint  Bruno     199 

cutting  made  his  report.  He  grieved  to  say 
that  he  had  discovered  Aloysius  seated  by 
the  side  of  a  young  goatherd,  showing  him 
how  to  play  upon  his  Pan  pipes.  He  further 
explained  that  he  had  watched  the  offender 
unseen,  and  that  Aloysius  had  kept  the  letter 
of  the  rule  of  silence,  not  speaking  to  the  lad, 
but  teaching  him  by  patient  pantomime  how 
to  evoke  tuneful  strains  from  his  rustic  in- 
strument, and  his  lesson  ended  had  left  him 
with  the  prescribed  Carthusian  greeting, 
"Memento  mori"  accompanied  by  a  shock- 
ingly playful  pat  upon  the  shoulder. 

To  the  surprise  of  the  monk,  his  superior 
had  not  only  condoned  this  breach  of  disci- 
pline, but  had  ordered  him  to  pass  over  any 
similar  offence. 

Scarcely  was  the  General  alone  before  he 
opened  with  trembling  eagerness  a  small 
closet  in  the  wall.  It  contained  a  few  relics 
of  Saint  Bruno,  the  plan  of  the  monastery 
believed  to  have  been  communicated  to  him 
in  a  vision  at  Rome,  and  a  still  more  revered 
object  carefully  wrapped  in  a  linen  cloth. 
Saint  Bruno  when  locating  the  site  of  the 
monastery  had  followed  strains  of  celestial 
music,  and  on  the  spot  where  the  corner-stone 
of  his  chapel  had  been  laid  the  workmen  had 


200  French  Abbeys 

found  a  flageolet.  It  was  this  instrument 
which  Dom  Jerome  now  regarded  reverently. 
There  was  nothing  to  mark  it  as  supernatural ; 
it  was  an  ordinary  ebony  flute  a  bee  with  •  six 
silver  keys,  and  as  the  General  cautiously 
breathed  into  the  mouthpiece  the  tones  came 
true  and  sweet,  for  it  was  in  perfect  condition. 
He  sank  upon  his  knees  beseeching  Saint 
Bruno  to  bless  the  design  which  he  had 
formed,  and  hiding  the  flageolet  within  his 
robe,  strode  rapidly  from  the  monastery. 

That  evening,  Fadet  the  goatherd  was  over- 
joyed at  finding  the  flageolet  on  the  hard 
pallet  of  his  lonely  cabin.  He  carried  it  to 
Aloysius  on  the  following  day,  taxing  him 
with  the  gift.  The  novice  shook  his  head,  for 
it  was  a  surprise  to  him  as  well,  but  the 
General  of  the  stern  order  smiled  as  the  notes 
of  the  instrument  were  borne  to  him  from 
the  neighbouring  pines. 

In  teaching  Fadet  Aloysius  had  found  an 
interest  outside  of  himself,  and  the  General 
knew  that  his  salvation  was  assured. 

And  now  into  this  haven  of  peace,  this 
sanctuary  of  a  rescued  soul,  the  fiend  who  had 
wrought  so  much  misery  had  penetrated,  and 
the  fires  of  hell,  which  Dom  Jerome  fondly  be- 


The  Flageolet  of  Saint  Bruno     201 

lieved  had  been  extinguished  in  the  heart  of 
his  spiritual  child,  flamed  forth  with  new 
intensity. 

In  the  narrowest  portion  of  the  gorge  up 
which  winds  the  road  to  La  Grande  Char- 
treuse there  shoots  almost  perpendicularly 
from  the  precipice  a  pinnacle  of  rock  called 
the  Needle.  It  would  seem  that  some  god 
had  cleft  it  from  the  equally  vertical  wall  of 
cliff,  to  afford  the  scantiest  possible  opening 
for  the  road. 

This  opening,  the  Needle's  Eye,  the  monks 
had  barred  by  double  iron  gates,  capped  by  a 
defending  tower  (no  longer  existing,  but  de- 
scribed in  ancient  manuscripts  as  the  "Fort- 
alacium  de  VQLillet" — "  The  Little  Fort  of  the 
Eyelet"). 

The  fortified  port  was  dwarfed  to  insigni- 
ficance by  the  tremendous  obelisk  at  its  side, 
which  dominated  it  by  a  hundred  and  twenty 
feet. 

The  surest  footed  chamois  had  never  scaled 
the  sides  of  this  natural  spire  and  the  eagles 
built  securely  in  its  crevices. 

Dom  Jerome  met  the  invading  force  at  this 
point,  hauling  up  the  iron  portcullis  for  the 
troops  and  bidding  them  pass  freely  on  to  the 
monastery  in  whose  refectory  Aloysius  had 


202  French  Abbeys 

spread  an  ample  collation.  But  Des  Adrets 
halted  his  command  and  gazed  fascinated  at 
the  Needle. 

"  It  is  as  if  some  steeple  had  run  away  from 
its  cathedral,"  he  said  to  one  of  his  officers. 
"Ah,  Biron,  if  I  could  once  see  a  man  leap 
from  that  height ! ' ' 

"Inconceivable,  Baron,  for  first  the  man 
would  have  to  climb  to  the  top,  a  manifestly 
impossible  feat." 

The  Baron  sighed  assent,  and  his  eye  fell 
upon  the  Carthusian  General  and  the  monk 
Aloysius  standing  in  the  Eyelet.  "Welcome 
to  our  poor  house,"  said  Dom  Jerome,  bowing 
deeply,  but  Aloysius  stood  the  straighter, 
with  folded  arms,  staring  at  the  Baron. 

"How  much  farther  must  I  ride  before  I 
reach  it?"  asked  the  Baron  with  an  oath. 
"Have  you  nothing  to  drink  here?  I  have 
the  thirst  of  the  damned." 

"I  anticipated  as  much,"  said  Aloysius, 
"and  have  brought  of  our  best  elixir.  A 
cask  of  green  Chartreuse  is  broached  at  the 
monastery,  but  this  flask  of  our  oldest  and 
best  I  selected  especially  for  your  excellency." 

As  he  spoke,  Aloysius  filled  a  glass  with 
such  nervousness  that  Des  Adrets' s  brows 
drew  together  in  a  scowl  of  suspicion. 


•  'C 

J  I 

Q  g 

QJ  « 

*  o 

Id  s 

X  .2 

H  I 


The  Flageolet  of  Saint  Bruno     203 

"Prepared  especially  for  me,"  he  said 
mockingly.  ' '  Are  you  willing,  young  man,  to 
drink  my  health  in  this  elixir  which  you  have 
so  amiably  concocted?" 

Aloysius  bowed  and  poured  a  second  glass. 
"If  your  excellency  will  join  me,  I  will  drink 
with  pleasure,"  he  replied.  "I  prepare  no 
cup  for  another  which  I  am  not  willing  to 
share." 

Dom  Jerome's  hand  closed  upon  his  arm 
with  a  grip  like  that  of  iron.  ''Pardon  me, 
Baron,"  he  said,  "but  you  come  in  such  un- 
usual guise  that  I  can  well  understand  your 
demand  for  a  guarantee  of  your  safety  in  our 
hospitality.  Let  me  have  the  honour  of  act- 
ing as  your  cup-bearer  and  of  tasting  this 
liqueur. ' '  He  lifted  the  glass  to  his  lips,  gazing 
at  the  same  time  earnestly  at  Aloysius,  who 
answered  his  unspoken  question  frankly. 

"You  may  drink  it  in  safety,  reverend 
Father,"  he  said.  "I  wrestled  through  that 
temptation,  and  it  is  not  poisoned." 

But  Des  Adrets  heard  only  the  last  word. 
"Poisoned!"  he  repeated.  "I  thought  so. 
You  seem  uncommonly  willing  to  die,  and 
you  shall  have  your  wish." 

"Baron,"  besought  Dom  Jerome,  "you 
misunderstand.    See,  I  drink  the  liqueur  with 


204  French  Abbeys 

impunity.  This  young  man  is  innocent  of  any 
attempt  to  harm  you;  and  yet  he  has  already 
experienced  your  severity.  He  was  among 
those  who  leapt  into  the  Rhone  at  Valence. 
You  will  not  condemn  him  twice  to  death." 

"I  died  twice  that  night,"  said  Aloysius, 
"when  the  one  I  loved  died  in  my  arms.  Let 
him  do  his  worst ;  he  can  but  send  me  to  her. ' ' 

"You  shall  have  your  choice,  or  at  least 
your  chance,"  Des  Adrets  replied  with  a 
sneer.  "That  is  a  pretty  church  spire  you 
have  yonder,  but  it  lacks  its  fmial.  If  you 
can  set  upon  its  summit  the  iron  cross  which 
I  see  upon  this  gate  you  shall  be  untouched 
by  me  or  by  my  troops  when  you  come 
down." 

"'Tis  a  fair  proposition,"  approved  Cap- 
tain Biron.  "If  your  life  is  worth  anything 
to  you,  young  man,  earn  it." 

Aloysius  looked  at  his  superior  and  smiled 
bitterly.  "Pray  for  my  soul,  my  General,"  he 
said  simply,  and  prepared  for  the  task. 

A  soldier  accompanied  him  to  the  convent 
for  such  things  as  he  deemed  requisite,  and  he 
returned  promptly  to  the  spot.  Placing  him- 
self on  the  side  of  the  Needle  farthest  from  the 
monastery  he  drew  from  his  bosom  a  pigeon 
which  he  had  taken  from  her  nest,  and  attach- 


The  Flageolet  of  Saint  Bruno     205 

ing  one  end  of  a  bobbin  of  thread  to  a  foot, 
let  her  go  free.  The  bird  shot  up  into  the  air, 
circled  once,  and  then  flew  toward  its  home. 
'  ■  Shoot  her, ' '  Aloysius  cried  to  the  crossbow- 
men,  and  the  pigeon  fell  dead  at  their  feet. 
Running  to  the  spot,  Aloysius  took  up  the 
thread  and  pulled  it  steadily.  It  was  of  stout 
flax,  and  had  fallen,  as  he  had  calculated  that 
it  would,  across  a  narrow  ledge  near  the  point 
of  the  Needle.  He  had  fastened  a  stout  cord 
with  a  slip-noose  to  the  thread,  and  skilfully 
manipulating  the  line,  the  noose  presently 
encircled  the  upper  portion  of  the  pinnacle, 
and  was  pulled  taut  and  firm.  It  would  bear 
his  weight,  and  with  a  pouch  slung  over  his 
shoulder  containing  the  iron  cross  and  some 
tools,  he  began  the  perilous  ascent. 

As  he  pressed  his  bare  feet  to  the  slippery 
rock  and  grasped  the  cord,  he  turned  to  Dom 
Jerome.     "I  confess,  my  General,  peccavi!" 

"And  I  grant  you  absolution,"  the  other 
replied;  but  as  a  look  of  ecstasy  illumined 
the  penitent's  face,  Dom  Jerome  hastily  added : 
1 '  I  absolve  and  remit  all  sins  of  your  past  life 
up  to  this  present ;  but  when  you  have  com- 
pleted your  task  and  fixed  the  sign  of  our 
redemption  on  that  height,  add  not  the  crime 
of  suicide  to  your  account,  but  come  down  to 


206  French  Abbeys 

your  duties  and  your  penance,  and  God  be 
with  you." 

Steadily,  carefully,  Aloysius  climbed,  now 
aiding  himself  by  the  rope,  now  daringly 
making  his  way  without  its  help,  scaring  the 
eagles  from  their  eyries  and  sending  particles 
of  stone  crashing  with  startling  reverberations 
into  the  ravine  below.  He  was  watched  in 
utter  silence  until  he  reached  the  summit,  and 
the  faint  clink  of  his  hammer  was  heard  upon 
the  rock.  Then  the  cross  rose,  and  the 
Huguenot  soldiers  for  the  first  and  last  time 
in  their  lives  threw  up  their  caps  and  cheered 
the  sacred  symbol,  or  rather  the  achievement 
of  the  daring  artisan. 

Then  steadying  himself  by  the  cross  with 
one  arm  Aloysius  stood  upright  and  looked, 
not  downward,  but  as  though  he  saw  a  vision 
into  heaven. 

Des  Adrets  leaped  and  capered  like  a  mad- 
man. "Jump!"  he  cried.  "Jump,  and  be 
damned!" 

Dom  Jerome  extended  his  arms  with  an 
appealing  cry, — "My  son,  my  son!"  but 
Aloysius  neither  heard  nor  saw  them,  for  he 
was  wavering  under  the  influence  of  a  great 
temptation.  It  was  the  same  which  the  arch 
fiend  dared  to  present  to  the  sinless  Christ. 


The  Flageolet  of  Saint  Bruno     207 

The  vertigo  in  the  brain  of  the  dazed  monk 
reinforced  the  desperation  in  his  heart,  and 
he  heard  all  around  him  the  mocking  voices : 
''Cast  thyself  down.  Cast  thyself  down!" 
He  wavered  for  an  instant,  and  seemed  to  be 
preparing  himself  for  the  fatal  leap,  when 
clear  and  sweet  a  strain  of  music  thrilled 
through  the  air,  piercing  it  like  an  arrow,  and 
reaching  the  dizzy  brain  of  the  man  upon  the 
Needle's  point. 

1 '  Play !  play !  Blow  for  your  life,  Fadet ! ' ' 
cried  Dom  Jerome;  and  the  goatherd  blew, 
his  heart  in  his  throat,  the  notes  penetratingly 
shrill,  but  discordant  now,  for  he  was  too 
excited  to  mind  his  stops. 

Aloysius  heard  the  yearning  message  and 
stood  transfixed.  He  had  thought  himself 
unloved  and  unneeded  in  the  world,  but  those 
false  notes  told  him  the  truth, — little  Fadet 
both  loved  and  needed  his  teacher.  With  that 
revelation  his  own  life  became  precious  to 
him,  and  with  calm  determination  he  started 
upon  a  descent  infinitely  more  perilous  than 
the  upward  climb. 

Des  Adrets,  realising  that  Aloysius  had 
decided  to  attempt  to  retrace  his  steps,  burst 
into  a  volley  of  oaths. 

"Shoot  him!"  he  commanded,  but  not  a 


208  French  Abbeys 

man  stirred  to  execute  the  order,  and  Captain 
Biron  saluted. 

"So  please  you,  sir,  it  will  not  be  necessary. 
He  can  never  reach  the  ground  in  safety." 

"You  are  right,"  Des  Adrets  admitted; 
"and  it  is  more  exciting  to  watch  the  fool  try 
the  impossible.  There,  look !  look !  The  cord 
has  been  worn  through  by  that  sharp  rock. 
He  is  falling !  No,  by  the  Mass,  he  has  lodged 
in  that  pine!  He  is  still  scrambling  down! 
I  have  not  had  such  enjoyment  in  a  year,  for 
he  is  doomed.  He  has  wrenched  his  wrist,  and 
it  hangs  limp.     Ah !     At  last  he  has  leapt ! ' ' 

But  the  distance  was  trifling,  and  Aloysius, 
landing  on  marshy  ground,  was  unhurt. 

"Shoot  him!  Shoot  him!"  yelled  Des 
Adrets,  as  the  novice  staggered  to  his  feet. 

"Baron,  he  has  our  word,"  protested  Biron. 
"We  are  jointly  responsible  for  what  is  done 
on  this  expedition,  and  the  word  of  Biron  at 
least  shall  not  be  broken  in  the  presence  of 
his  soldiers.  Sergeant,  give  the  order  to 
march  to  the  monastery.  All  of  the  Char- 
treuse liqueur  is  not  poisoned,  I  fancy.  If 
the  Reverend  Father-General  will  oblige  us 
still  further  as  cup-bearer  and  taster  we  may 
find  other  entertainment  as  good  in  its  way 
as  the  performance  of  yonder  acrobat." 


The  Flageolet  of  Saint  Bruno     209 

Dom  Jerome  waved  his  hand  to  Aloysius, 
or  so  the  latter  imagined;  but  when  he 
reached  the  Gate  of  the  Eyelet  there  was  no 
one  waiting  to  receive  him  but  Fadet. 

''The  General  bade  me  take  you  to  the 
cave  where  I  pen  the  goats,"  sobbed  the  boy, 
hysterical  with  joy;  ''and  we  are  to  remain 
hidden  there  till  he  comes  for  us." 

"And  we  shall  have  enough  to  do,"  replied 
Aloysius,  masking  his  emotion.  "You  must 
practise  many  times  that  jig  which  you  blub- 
bered forth  while  I  was  upon  the  Needle,  for 
you  played  it  very  vilely,  little  Fadet,  very 
vilely  indeed." 


CHAPTER  X 


FLEUR  D'EPINE 


A  LEGEND  OF  THE  BOYHOOD  OF  SAINT  LOUIS 


(From  undiscovered  memoirs  of  the  Sieur  de  Joinville) 


CERTES  it  is  a  fair  Abbey,  that  of  Saint 
Denis,  and  a  merry  life  as  a  lad  I  led 
therein  as  pensionnaire  of  its  school  for  noble 
youths.  Here  for  a  time  my  late  royal  master, 
Louis  IX.  of  France,  then  a  lad  of  eleven 
years,  was  my  schoolfellow,  and  here  we  con- 
tracted the  intimacy  which  later  blossomed 
on  his  part  into  a  confidence  overweeningly 
disproportioned  to  my  talents,  but  not  to  my 
affection. 

True,  in  those  days  I  made  no  display  of 
the  love  I  really  bore  him,  but  contrari- 
wise, as  the  manner  of  boys  is,  for  I  was 
a  sad  scapegrace,  and  he  with  his  seraphic 


2IO 


Fleur  d'Epine  211 

beauty  and  spiritual  nature  was  even  then 
too  heavenly-minded  for  this  present  evil 
world. 

I  mind  me  in  this  connection  of  an  adven- 
ture which  threw  all  the  monastery  into  a 
nine  days'  wonder  and  well-nigh  cost  the  life 
of  a  very  worthy  man. 

It  had  to  do  in  the  first  place  with  the  theft 
of  that  masterpiece  of  the  goldsmith's  art,  the 
vase  which  the  Abbot  Suger  left  to  the  mon- 
astery ;  a  vase  of  porphyry,  mounted  with  the 
golden  head  and  wings  and  claws  of  some 
great  bird.  It  was  commonly  held  to  figure 
forth  the  cock  of  St.  Peter,  the  same  that  by 
its  crowing  waked  that  cowardly  saint  to 
repentance,  and  yet  it  bore  no  so  living  a 
likeness  to  such  a  fowl. 

This  precious  and  venerated  object  had  its 
place  upon  the  high  altar  of  the  church  be- 
neath the  oriflamme,  the  pennon  of  the 
Abbey;  and  there  lacked  not  great  hue  and 
cry  when  upon  a  certain  morning  it  was  dis- 
covered to  be  missing.  The  most  diligent  in- 
vestigation availed  nothing,  for  though  a 
window  in  the  apse  was  broken,  the  orifice  was 
too  high  and  too  small  for  a  robber  to  have 
effected  an  entrance  thereby,  and  all  the  doors 
were  bolted. 


212  French  Abbeys 

When  all  the  pensionnaires  were  convened 
and  adjured  to  confess  if  we  knew  aught  con- 
cerning the  disappearance  of  this  treasure, 
Prince  Louis  arose  and  told  how  he  had  seen 
the  sacred  cock  take  flight  from  the  altar  of 
itself,  soaring  through  the  opening  in  the 
window,  and  that  he  following  had  witnessed 
it  make  covert  in  the  bosom  of  a  stranger  at 
the  foot  of  the  Abbey  garden. 

This  statement  was  so  extraordinary  that 
those  who  heard,  knowing  that  the  con- 
scientious child  would  have  died  rather  than 
have  told  a  lie,  had  no  other  resource  than  to 
believe  that  he  had  dreamed  what  he  related. 
Still,  the  vision  coming  so  apt  upon  the  dis- 
appearance of  the  vase,  the  Abbot  questioned 
him  closely. 

"At  what  time  was  it,  sweet  Prince,  that 
thou  sawest  the  bird  fly  away?" 

"At  midnight,  my  Lord,  for  the  bell  had 
but  struck  the  hour.,, 

"And  how  couldst  thou,  in  thy  bed,  have 
seen  what  passed  in  the  church?" 

"So  please  you,  my  Lord,  I  was  not  in  my 
bed,  but  had  come  into  the  church,  following 
an  apparition  of  the  blessed  Saint  Denis,  who 
awakened  me  and  bade  me  do  so. ' ' 

The  Abbot  shook  his  head.     "Dear  child," 


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o 

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Fleur  d'Epine  213 

he  asked,  "what  said  the  saint,  and  how 
looked  his  features?" 

"He  was  all  in  white,  my  Lord,  but  he  had 
no  face,  for  thou  knowest  that  it  was  after  his 
head  was  chopped  off  that  he  came  to  this 
Abbey.  His  voice  came  from  his  midst,  and 
he  bade  me  follow  the  cock  of  Saint  Peter, 
for  beneath  the  spot  where  it  would  alight  I 
should  find  buried  the  true  and  holy  crown 
of  thorns." 

"And  didst  thou  find  it,  thou  blessed  inno- 
cent?" 

"Nay,  my  Lord,  but  the  bird  hovered  over 
the  great  eglantine  by  the  garden  wall,  which 
hath  doubtless  sprung  from  the  sacred  briar- 
wreath,  and  there  in  its  shadow  awaiting  my 
coming  was  one  of  my  human  thorns." 

"What  meanest  thou,  sweet  Prince,  by  thy 
human  thorns?" 

"My  wretched  subjects,  Sir  Abbot,  whom 
I  must  change  to  roses,  as  Brother  Ambrosius 
taught  me  in  the  legend  of  The  Eglantine  of 
C *  alphas" 

"Tell  me  the  legend,  dear  child,"  com- 
manded the  Abbot,  "for  I  mind  it  not." 

"At  the  time  of  the  passion  of  our  Lord," 
said  the  Prince,  in  his  sweet  child's  voice, 
"there  grew  in  Jerusalem,  in  the  garden  of 


214  French  Abbeys 

the  high-priest,  a  wild-rose  tree,  like  unto  the 
one  in  our  garden,  save  that  it  had  never 
blossomed. 

"It  was  from  its  briary  stalks  that  the 
brutal  soldiers  plaited  the  crown  of  thorns. 
But  when  the  eglantine  drank  the  precious 
blood  a  new  sap  swelled  within  its  savage 
veins  and  a  thorn  changed  to  flower.  And 
even  as  the  petals  of  the  rose  caressed  the  face 
of  our  Lord  there  was  borne  to  his  ear  the 
confession  of  the  penitent  thief,  that  human 
thorn  changed  to  a  rose  of  Paradise. 

"And  ever  since  whenever  a  soul  is  saved, 
a  thorn  is  changed  to  a  rose  on  the  briary 
branches  of  the  eglantine  wherever  it  may 
grow. 

"Brother  Ambrosius  told  me,  moreover, 
that  a  King's  wicked  subjects  were  his  thorns, 
that  for  the  most  part  they  wTere  wicked  be- 
cause they  were  wretched,  and  that  if  I  made 
my  people  happier,  and  so  better,  in  good 
time  all  the  eglantines  in  France  would  be- 
come thornless." 

"Brother  Ambrosius  hath  distraught  thy 
sensitive  mind  with  his  mystical  legends,"  the 
Abbot  declared  angrily.  "Sweet  Prince,  it  is 
but  a  dream.  There  was  no  man,  and  the 
bird  flew  not." 


,     Fleur  d'fipine  215 

"Nay,  my  Lord,  it  was  no  dream,  for  Jean 
de  Joinville  was  in  the  church  and  saw  the 
cock  fly.  He  followed  me  also  to  the  garden, 
for  I  heard  him  crouching  along  behind  the 
hedges,  and  he  saw  Fleur  d'Epine — for  that  is 
the  new  name  t  which  I  gave  to  the  man  who 
hath  the  bird,  seeing  that  he  hath  promised  to 
be  a  naughty  thorn  no  longer,  but  a  rose." 

"Jean  de  Joinville,  stand  forth,"  com- 
manded the  Abbot;  and  sorely  against  my 
will,  with  a  hang-dog  face  and  a  thumping 
heart,  I  obeyed. 

' '  Didst  thou,  Jean,  indeed,  see  this  wonder  ? " 
asked  my  inquisitor. 

"Yea,  my  Lord  Abbot,"  I  answered  halt- 
ingly; "it  is  all  as  the  Prince  hath  told  thee." 

"How  earnest  thou  in  the  church?" 

"I  was  wakeful  and  followed  Prince  Louis." 

"And  why  hast  thou  not  volunteered  thy 
testimony  before  ? " 

"Because  none  would  have  believed  me." 

"The  tale  is  indeed  well-nigh  incredible,  but 
speak  the  truth  and  fear  not.  How  looked 
this  man,  this  Fleur  d'Epine?  Nay,  ere  thy 
testimony  is  taken  on  that  point  the  Prince 
may  retire,  for  we  would  see  whether  your 
descriptions  tally." 

So  I  told  the  Abbot  the  truth  concerning 


216  French  Abbeys 

the  man,  whom  I  had  indeed  seen:  that  he 
was  swarthy,  ragged,  and  unshorn,  and  of 
brawny  build,  that  he  carried  a  knotty  club, 
and  so  formidable  was  his  appearance  that  I 
trembled  at  first  lest  he  would  brain  the 
royal  child;  but  that  suddenly  this  wild 
creature  dropped  his  bludgeon  and  sank  upon 
his  knees,  and,  mistaking  Louis  for  some 
saint,  he  cried,  ''Lord  have  mercy  upon  me 
a  sinner." 

I  related  further  how  the  Prince  greeted 
him  kindly,  and  that  the  man  confessed 
that  he  had  come  to  rob  the  poultry-yard  of 
the  monastery  of  a  little  gamecock  named 
Dagobert,  which  Brother  Herluin,  keeper  of 
the  fowls,  had  hidden,  and  which  he  had 
entered  in  cocking-mains  to  the  scandal  of 
the  Abbey. 

This  my  testimony  was,  on  the  further 
examination  of  the  Prince,  confirmed  in  every 
particular,  and  we  each  separately  deposed 
how  Fleur  d'Epine  had  declared  that  he  was 
desperate  with  hunger,  and  that  his  father 
and  mother  also  must  starve  unless  some 
miracle  were  wrought  in  their  behalf. 

"Then,"  continued  the  Prince,  "I  knew 
why  the  cock  had  flown  to  him  of  its  own 
volition,  and  I  bade  him  seize  it  as  it  fluttered 


Fleur  d'fepine  217 

above  his  head,  for  that  this  was  the  blessed 
bird  of  Saint  Peter,  and  if  entered  in  the 
cocking-main  instead  of  Dagobert,  doubtless 
it  would  vanquish  all  contestants." 

"What  said  the  man  to  this?"  the  Abbot 
asked  of  me;  and  I  told  how  he  had  at  first 
gaped  as  one  astonished,  and  then  clanging 
the  metal  work  upon  the  stones,  had  said  that 
it  was  fair  brass,  and  the  bird's  belly  a  jug  of 
stout  red  crockery,  so  that  if  the  cock  came 
not  to  life  to  fight,  it  might  fetch  somewhat 
from  a  dealer  of  old  rags  and  iron. 

I  testified  further  that  the  Prince  urged 
him  to  venture  upon  the  miracle,  and  that 
thrusting  the  vase  into  his  bosom,  the  man 
made  off  over  the  wall,  the  Prince  returning  to 
the  dormitory  with  the  exalted  mien  of  one 
who  trod  upon  air. 

"By  the  mouth  of  two  witnesses  shall  every 
word  be  established, ' '  quoth  the  Abbot.  ' '  The 
ground  also,  which  I  have  carefully  examined, 
hath  been  trampled,  the  eglantine  and  its 
trellis  broken,  and  footprints  are  discernible 
on  the  moist  earth  outside  the  wall.  This, 
therefore,  was  no  dream  or  vision.  The  bird 
of  a  verity  flew,  and  the  man  who  whistled  it 
to  him  must  have  done  so  by  some  devil's  arts, 
and  have  been  a  sorcerer. 


218  French  Abbeys 

' 'It  is  by  no  means  unlikely  that  he  will 
carry  out  his  boast  of  causing  our  venerated 
treasure  to  be  animated  by  some  imp  of  hell, 
which  in  this  disguise  will  be  invincible.  The 
rogue  shall  be  sought  at  every  cock-pit  and 
fete  where  lovers  of  this  barbarous  sport  do 
congregate;  and  when  apprehended  he  shall 
be  burned  for  sorcery  and  sacrilege,  for  none 
save  the  King  himself  can  deliver  him  from 
my  hand." 

When  Prince  Louis  heard  this,  he  wept  ex- 
ceedingly, for  the  King,  his  father,  was  absent 
in  Provence,  and  was  moreover  not  of  a  very 
tender  heart,  so  that  Fleur  d'Epine  stood  in 
jeopardy  of  his  life.  Moreover,  the  Prince 
would  not  be  convinced  that  his  flower  of 
the  briar  had  gotten  possession  of  the  bird 
through  sorcery,  nor  of  a  truth  did  I  think  so, 
nor  was  this  the  opinion  of  two  of  our  young 
comrades,  Geoffrey  de  Sargines  and  Pierre  de 
Montreuil,  who  could  have  borne  further  tes- 
timony in  this  matter  had  they  so  dared. 

"He  was  a  very  honest  man,"  the  Prince 
declared  to  us ;  "  only  he  had  been  bred  to  no 
trade,  and  could  do  naught  but  teach  young 
chicken-cocks  to  peck  out  each  other's  eyes. 
But  verily  if  he  can  so  train  men  he  would 
make  such  a  captain  as  I  would  fain  have  in 


Fleur  d'fepine  219 

my  army.  It  would  be  a  wicked  deed  to 
burn  this  man,  and  it  shall  not  be." 

"It  shall  not  be  if  I  can  hinder,"  I  rejoined; 
"I  will  warn  him  of  his  danger, — but  how, 
since  we  know  not  his  true  name  nor  his 
home?" 

"We  know  his  haunts,"  said  Geoffrey  de 
Sargines,  "and  if  thou  hadst  not  informed 
upon  Brother  Herluin  he  might  have  taken 
thee  to  the  next  cock-fight;  but  now  is  the 
sportive  monk  shut  up  under  discipline." 

"Perchance  we  can  discover  somewhat  in 
his  cell,"  suggested  Pierre  de  Montreuil,  who 
was  always  fertile  in  expedients.  And  there, 
in  sooth,  we  found  a  calendar  wherein  the 
keeper  of  the  poultry  had  marked  the  dates 
and  places  at  which  he  had  purposed  to  enter 
his  little  gamecock  Dagobert. 

The  next  contest  was  to  take  place  at 
Argenteuil,  and  on  that  day,  under  pretence 
of  a  visit  to  my  aunt,  I  got  a  holiday.  My 
comrades  aided  me  with  their  pocket  money, 
and  I  arrived  safely  at  my  destination,  putting 
up  at  a  low  tavern.  But  what  was  m3r 
mingled  satisfaction  and  alarm  to  find,  here 
publicly  posted,  a  challenge  to  all  the  fighting- 
cocks  of  the  world  to  combat  with  the  miracu- 
lous cock  of  Saint  Peter,  which  had  slept 


220  French  Abbeys 

during  the  centuries,  but  would,  as  its  owner 
believed,  now  awaken  and  vanquish  all 
comers. 

There  was  much  incredulity  and  jesting 
among  those  who  read  the  challenge,  and 
many  were  ready  to  bet  against  the  strange 
contestant,  whereas  only  one  man  appeared 
to  take  the  bets.  Strange  it  was  also  that 
this  man  was  a  Jew,  whom  one  would  not 
have  credited  with  belief  in  the  story.  As  it 
appeared,  he  was  a  receiver  of  stolen  goods, 
who  had  advanced  Fleur  d'Epine  a  certain 
sum  to  wager  upon  the  bird,  recognising  it  to 
be  of  value,  and  securing  its  possession  in  case 
the  bets  were  lost. 

But  the  cocking-main  came  not  off,  for 
while  I  sought  for  Fleur  d'Epine  with  all 
diligence,  the  officers  of  the  law  sought  for 
him  also,  and,  hotter  on  the  scent  than  I, 
seized  him,  showing  the  vase  unabashed,  and 
so  dragged  him  back  in  chains  to  the  jurisdic- 
tion of  the  Lord  Abbot  of  Saint  Denis. 

The  testimony  of  the  Prince  also  availed 
him  nothing,  but  on  the  contrary  served  to 
condemn  the  accused,  seeing  that  Louis 
swore  upon  the  rood  that  he  recognised  the 
prisoner  as  the  man  who  had  whistled  to  him 
the  vase.     Therefore  the  gentle  Prince  sobbed 


Fleur  d'fepine  221 

and  prayed  the  livelong  night;  and  Geoffrey 
de  Sargines  and  Pierre  de  Montreuil  and  I 
were  in  even  sorrier  case,  for  we  had  remorse 
upon  our  consciences. 

But  the  next  morning  a  swift  courier 
brought  tidings  of  weighty  import  to  the 
Abbey,  for  King  Louis  VIII.,  father  of  our 
Prince,  was  dead  in  Auvergne  upon  his  way 
home,  having  accomplished  naught  that  was 
indispensable  in  all  his  life,  save  the  begetting 
of  so  great  a  son. 

It  chanced  that  the  news  reached  us  as  the 
Prince  sat  at  the  Gate  of  Charity  dispensing 
loaves,  and  there  had  fallen  upon  their  knees 
before  him  an  aged  couple,  the  father  and 
mother  of  Fleur  d'Epine,  for  they  had  come 
to  beg  for  the  life  of  their  son. 

"Stay  you  here  a  little  space,  while  I  talk 
with  the  Lord  Abbot,"  Louis  commanded. 
And,  having  heard  all  his  Lordship  had  to  say, 
Louis  listened  also  to  the  letter  of  his  mother, 
Queen  Blanche,  bidding  him  write  out  a  list 
of  his  friends  who  should  assist  at  his  corona- 
tion at  Rheims. 

"Madame's  behest  shall  be  obeyed,"  quoth 
Louis;  "and,  my  Lord  Abbot,  after  thine 
own  name  I  prithee  place  those  of  my  best 
beloved  comrades,  Jean  de  Joinville,  Geoffrey 


222  French  Abbeys 

de  Sargines,  and  Pierre  de  Montreuil,  and 
following  theirs  that  of  Fleur  d'Epine,  the 
poor  man  to  whom  I  gave  the  vase  of  Suger." 

"Nay,"  cried  the  Abbot,  "what  madness  is 
this!  Hast  thou  forgotten  that  yon  vaga- 
bond lieth  under  sentence  of  death  for  sorcery 
and  sacrilege?" 

"Par  die!"  exclaimed  Louis,  "hast  thou 
forgotten,  Sir  Abbot,  that  I  am  King  ?  More- 
over, here  is  no  sorcery,  for  I  overheard  the 
three  friends  whom  I  have  named  conversing 
in  the  dormitory  in  the  darkness  of  the  night, 
and  charging  themselves  with  sobs  of  peni- 
tence with  a  jest,  which,  through  thy  severity, 
hath  well-nigh  wrought  the  death  of  this  my 
very  faithful  subject." 

"What  jest?"  demanded  the  Lord  Abbot, 
angrily,  and,  emboldened  with  the  conscious- 
ness that  Louis  would  be  our  safeguard,  wTe 
made  a  virtue  of  our  necessity,  and  confessed 
our  mad  prank.  For  our  unregenerate  na- 
tures had  revolted  against  the  abnormal  piety 
of  the  Prince,  when  he  had  declared  to  us  his 
intention  of  one  day  going  in  quest  of  the 
holy  crown  of  thorns;  and  Geoffrey  de  Sar- 
gines, wrapped  in  a  sheet,  had  personated 
Saint  Denis;  while  Pierre  de  Montreuil  (even 
then  most  ingenious  in  all  mechanical  con- 


Fleur  d'Epine  223 

trivances)  had  led  a  wire  from  the  high  altar 
to  the  eglantine,  on  which  by  means  of  a 
pulley  the  bird  of  Suger  had  been  made  to 
travel,  flapping  its  wings  in  grotesque  carica- 
ture of  flight.  Our  intention  being  to  lead 
the  too  credulous  Prince  straight  into  the 
briar-bush,  and  when  he  had  gotten  himself 
well  scratched  to  rise  up  and  revile  him. 

Our  plots  were  well  laid,  but,  as  I  have 
since  learned  in  the  greater  affairs  of  state- 
craft, there  often  come  in  unknown  factors 
which  cause  the  most  plausible  schemes  to 
have  other  outcomes  than  those  which  they 
who  devised  them  foresaw.  It  was  even  so 
with  our  pranking.  The  man,  Fleur  d'Epine, 
was  the  unknown  factor,  for  who  could  have 
foreseen  that  he  would  have  chosen  this  night 
to  rob  the  Abbey  hen-roosts,  or  that  all  these 
perversities  should  have  worked  together  as 
I  have  written  out  for  our  own  befooling? 
When  we  had  confessed  our  malefaction, 
Louis  cried  in  triumph,  "Thou  seest,  Sir 
Abbot,  that  Fleur  d'Epine's  only  fault  was 
belief  in  my  assurance  that  God  would  work 
a  miracle  in  his  behalf,  and  in  that  I  find  him 
a  better  Christian  than  thou." 

"Pardon,  my  Liege,"  cried  the  Abbot, 
upon  his  knees,    "pardon  me  that   I  have 


224  French  Abbeys 

spoken  thoughtlessly  and  pridefully.  As  for 
these  naughty  varlets  who  have  wrought 
all  this  mischief,  they  shall  smart  for  their 
misdeeds." 

''That  shall  they  not,  my  Lord  Abbot,  for 
I  bear  them  no  malice,  since  they  meant 
none.  Listen,  therefore,  to  the  first  com- 
mands of  King  Louis  IX.  These  my  friends 
shall  be  well  appointed  to  offices  about  my 
person,  and  the  man  who  has  suffered  on 
our  account,  the  doughty  and  valiant  Fleur 
d'Epine,  I  do  now  create  Captain  of  my  body- 
guard, and  he  shall  bear  the  oriflamme  before 
me  what  time  I  go  forth  to  the  Holy  Land,  and 
shall  there  wear  out  his  lustiness  upon  the 
Saracens.' ' 

So  he  spake,  and  so  it  was  done.  And 
what  further  is  there  for  me  to  say  in  this 
place,  seeing  that  of  the  King's  public  life,  his 
acts,  and  his  crusades  I  have  written  else- 
where with  prolixity  ?  All  the  world  knoweth, 
moreover,  how  the  King  obtained  that  pre- 
cious relic,  the  true  Crown  of  Thorns,  and 
caused  to  be  built  for  it  by  Pierre  de  Mon- 
treuil  (who  became  his  architect)  that  most 
fitting  reliquary,  the  Sainte  Chapelle  in  Paris. 
Neither  did  he  forget  his  human  thorns,  but 
founded  for  them  many  leproseries  and  hospi- 


Fleur  d'Epine  225 

tals ;  nor  was  he  unmindful  of  the  Abbey  which 
he  loved,  but  completed  it  after  the  plans  of 
Abbot  Suger. 

And  we  three,  his  boyhood  friends,  loved 
him  as  our  own  souls;  the  valiant  knight 
Geoffrey  de  Sargines  protecting  him  in  the 
day  of  battle,  as  Louis  himself  said,  "even  as 
a  good  servant  protects  his  lord's  tankard 
from  the  flies." 

So  also  did  the  very  valiant  Captain  Fleur 

d'Epine   make  his   breast   at   all   times   the 

King's  buckler,  dying  at  last  transfixed  with 

many  spears  at  the  ill-fated  battle  of  Man- 

sourah  what  time  Louis  was  taken  prisoner 

by  the  Infidels. 
15 


CHAPTER  XI 
THE  GREEN  DRAGON  OF  FECAMP 

IT  all  came  about  through  that  sly  rogue, 
I     Brother  Hilarius. 

Merry  and  ingenious,  his  society  was  not 
alone  the  delight  of  his  fellow-monks,  but  he 
had  brought  the  Abbey  of  St.  Ouen  fame  and 
wealth  by  his  incomparable  skill  as  scene 
painter  and  maker  of  properties  for  the 
mystery-plays,  which  were  annually  enacted 
in  the  great  " Place"  of  Rouen.  His  in- 
fernos were  so  realistic  and  so  melodramatic 
that  they  were  held  in  higher  esteem  than 
the  hells  of  any  other  dramatic  company 
either  secular  or  religious,  while  he  had  a 
complete  monopoly  in  every  species  of  loathly 
monster,  from  ordinary  green  dragons  to  his 
unapproachable  fire-belching  Beelzebub.  So 
terrific  was  the  appearance  of  this  hobgoblin 

226 


The  Green  Dragon  of  Ffecamp     227 

that  ladies  of  nervous  temperament  were 
warned  in  advance  to  leave  the  auditorium, 
and  at  its  sight  hardened  sinners  had  been 
known  to  cry  out  for  mercy,  and  promise 
amendment. 

It  will  be  readily  understood  that  much 
could  be  pardoned  so  invaluable  a  member  of 
the  brotherhood,  but  Hilarius  presumed  upon 
his  indispensability,  and  his  manners  becom- 
ing insufferable,  the  Abbot  saw  that  it  would 
be  necessary  to  discipline  him,  and  con- 
demned him  by  way  of  penance  to  retire  for 
a  season  to  the  small  priory  of  Valmont  on 
the  Normandy  coast,  not  far  from  the  Bene- 
dictine Abbey  of  Fecamp. 

Hilarius  wisely  employed  his  banishment 
in  painting  scenery  for  the  approaching  mys- 
tery play  of  Saint  Anthony,  a  barn  having 
been  granted  him  as  an  atelier  and  his  tools 
sent  from  Rouen. 

It  was  during  one  of  the  intervals  of  his 
work,  while  strolling  in  a  neighbouring  field 
which  belonged  to  the  Abbey  of  Fecamp,  that 
a  bit  of  good  fortune  befell  him  in  the  dis- 
covery of  a  small  deposit  of  what  appeared 
to  him  to  be  cinnabar,  from  which  he  well 
knew  vermilion  could  be  fabricated.  He 
trembled  with  delight,  for  vermilion  was  a 


228  French  Abbeys 

very  expensive  colour ;  so  costly  indeed  was  it 
that  it  was  only  doled  out  to  the  illuminators, 
while  he  was  obliged  to  content  himself  with 
duller  reds  for  his  lurid  scene-painting.  Here 
was  enough,  not  alone  for  his  own  artistic 
needs,  but  a  valuable  source  of  revenue  to  his 
Abbey.  He  immediately  notified  the  Abbot 
of  Saint  Ouen  of  his  discovery,  and  received  a 
prompt  reply  to  his  letter. 

It  was  indeed  a  pity,  wrote  his  superior, 
that  so  rich  a  deposit  should  be  in  the  posses- 
sion of  a  rival  monastery,  and  Hilarius  was 
directed  to  interrogate  Orosius  Abbot  of  Fe- 
camp as  to  the  possibility  of  purchasing  the 
land.  But  though  the  good  monk  had  no  idea 
of  the  particular  treasure  hid  in  his  field  and 
coveted  by  the  Abbot  of  St.  Ouen,  he  had 
his  own  secret  reason  for  not  desiring  to  part 
with  the  meadow,  for  here,  and  nowhere  else 
in  France,  grew  certain  wild  plants  which  he 
had  mingled  with  garden  herbs  and  distilled 
into  a  liqueur  so  adorable  that  he  believed 
it  worthy  to  be  presented  to  the  King 
himself. 

Finding  that  the  land  could  not  be  pur- 
chased by  fair  means,  Hilarius  determined  to 
employ  a  trick.  He  ascertained  that  the 
monks  held  their  deed  of  the  Abbey  from  the 


The  Green  Dragon  of  Fecamp     229 

Seigneur  de  Bailleul,  and  that  it  had  been 
granted  for  a  peculiar  service. 

Though  the  Seigneur  feared  neither  God 
nor  man  he  was  horribly  afraid  of  hobgoblins. 
His  castle  was  at  a  considerable  distance  from 
Fecamp,  at  the  foot  of  a  range  of  hills  called 
the  Falaise  du  Serpent,  on  account  of  a  tunnel 
which  still  pierces  it  and  was  supposed  to  be 
the  burrow  of  a  hideous  monster,  who  was 
often  heard  bellowing  in  his  subterranean 
caverns,  and  who  sometimes  came  forth  to 
feast  on  human  prey. 

Jean  de  Bailleul  had  called  upon  the  Abbot 
of  Fecamp  to  exorcise  this  dragon,  and  the 
brotherhood  had  followed  their  spiritual 
father  into  the  bowels  of  the  earth,  chanting 
masses  with  chattering  teeth.  Nothing  had 
been  seen  of  the  creature  either  at  that  time  or 
since, — and  even  the  noise  of  his  snoring  had 
ceased,  so  that  the  monks  could  fairly  claim 
to  have  performed  their  part  of  the  bargain. 

When  Jean  de  Bailleul  learned  that  the 
Abbot  of  St.  Ouen  was  willing  to  pay  him  a 
large  sum  for  the  Abbey  lands  he'regretted  his 
unaccustomed  generosity,  but  the  grant  had 
been  legally  made,  and  there  was  no  repudiat- 
ing it. 

Hilarius  saw  the  disappointed  covetousness 


230  French  Abbeys 

in  the  eyes  of  the  Seigneur,  and  suggested 
craftily: 

"If  the  monks  of  Fecamp  of  their  own  ac- 
cord ask  to  exchange  their  present  seat  for 
another  less  valuable  in  some  other  part  of 
Normandy,  will  you  not  sell  it  to  us?" 

"Most  certainly,' '  replied  Jean  de  Bailleul; 
"rid  me  of  those  clowns,  and  the  estate  shall 
be  secured  to  your  Abbot." 

All  this  time  Orosius,  quite  unconscious 
of  the  machinations  of  the  wicked,  behind  the 
locked  doors  of  his  laboratory  was  indus- 
triously concocting  the  divine  nectar  which 
he  trusted  would  make  the  reputation  of  his 
Abbey,  as  indeed  it  did.  So  seductive  was 
the  cordial  that,  from  frequent  tasting,  to  be 
sure  that  it  was  correctly  mingled,  he  had  a 
vision  of  serpents  such  as  Dante  saw  and 
some  of  the  old  sculptors  wrought  in  stone 
about  the  doors  of  churches.  The  Abbot 
knew  that  such  visions  were  not  infrequently 
sent  by  the  devil  to  admonish  drunkards,  and 
he  wisely  resolved  upon  radical  reform,  pur- 
suing a  regime  of  abstinence  with  such  hero- 
ism that  he  filled  flask  after  flask  with  his 
adorable  liqueur  without  ever  allowing  a  drop 
of  it  to  pass  his  lips.  He  would  never  have 
confessed  to  his  visions  had  it  not  been  that 


The  Green  Dragon  of  Fecamp     231 

other  members  of  the  community  were  about 
this  time  affected  by  similar  ones. 

Andrew,  the  gatekeeper,  had  heard  from 
the  monks  of  the  Priory  of  Valmont  that  the 
great  serpent  which  the  Abbot  Orosius  had 
exorcised  had  been  seen  making  its  way 
toward  the  coast.  The  monk  gave  a  most 
thrilling  account  of  the  number  of  unfortunate 
victims  which  the  creature  had  devoured. 
"Heaven  forfend  that  he  should  come  our 
way!" 

Soon  other  alarming  rumours  were  heard. 
One  peasant  had  seen  a  monster  prowling 
around  the  ateliers  of  Valmont  at  night.  Its 
eyes  shot  fire,  and  it  left  a  terrible  stench  of 
brimstone  in  its  wake.  As  yet  it  had  de- 
voured no  human  being  in  the  vicinity,  but 
pigs  and  poultry  had  been  carried  off,  and 
there  was  no  telling  what  it  might  do. 

Some  of  the  monks  at  Fecamp  had  been  in 
the  procession  which  followed  their  Abbot 
into  the  loathly  lair,  and  they  doubted  not 
but  the  monster,  feeling  a  grudge  against 
their  good  Abbot,  would  be  likely  to  revenge 
himself  upon  his  helpless  flock. 

One  night  the  entire  community  heard  a 
most  terrific  roaring,  and,  shaking  in  their 
dormitory,  not  one  of  them  dared  sally  forth 


232  French  Abbeys 

to  investigate  the  ominous  sounds.  On  the 
morrow  the  track  of  the  serpent  was  plainly 
visible  around  the  Abbey.  Orosius  sprin- 
kled it  with  holy  water,  and  when  the  roaring 
was  heard  again,  made  the  sign  of  the  Cross 
and  plucked  up  courage  enough  to  look  out 
at  the  window.  But  the  sight  which  he  saw 
filled  him  with  such  terror  that  he  fell  back- 
ward in  a  faint. 

A  monstrous  green  dragon,  with  eyes  like 
balls  of  fire,  was  rumbling  and  grunting  along 
the  avenue  which  led  to  the  entrance  of  the 
Abbey.  The  creature  paused  here,  and  belch- 
ing forth  a  torrent  of  sulphurous  flame,  which 
would  certainly  have  set  fire  to  the  building 
had  it  not  been  built  of  stone,  was  distinctly 
heard  to  utter  the  ominous  words,  "I  thirst,  I 
thirst  for  blood!" 

After  having  reduced  the  occupants  of  the 
Abbey  to  the  extremity  of  mortal  terror,  the 
dragon  ambled  slowly  away  to  the  accom- 
paniment of  peals  of  fiendish  laughter. 

The  next  morning  the  monks  begged  their 
Abbot  on  their  knees  to  flee  with  them,  but  to 
their  surprise  they  found  him  calm  and  resolute. 

"I  shall  not  abandon  my  post  of  duty,"  he 
declared,  ''and  since  this  hellish  monster 
thirsts  I  will  give  him  to  drink." 


The  Green  Dragon  of  Fecamp     233 

A  cry  of  dismay  went  up  from  the  little 
company,  for  they  believed  that  their  Abbot 
had  resolved  to  sacrifice  himself  for  their 
sakes  and  to  go  out  alone  to  meet  the  dragon. 

"Nay,"  he  replied,  "the  foul  fiend  shall 
have  a  beverage  far  more  delicious  than  my 
poor  blood.  Hasten  to  carry  the  great  soup 
kettle  to  the  avenue.  I  will  fill  it  with  an 
elixir  which  cannot  fail  to  tempt  his  nostrils 
and  to  soften  his  heart." 

Apparently  the  good  monk  had  not  over- 
estimated the  qualities  of  his  cordial,  for 
though  the  monster  overturned  the  kettle  in 
his  first  blind  rush  toward  the  Abbey,  he 
seemed  either  to  have  some  difficulty  in  rolling 
the  heavy  obstacle  from  his  path,  or  the  per- 
fume of  the  spilled  liqueur  exercised  a  fasci- 
nation upon  him.  At  all  events  he  remained 
for  a  long  time  on  the  spot,  and  the  anxiously 
watching  monks  thought  they  discerned  shad- 
owy forms,  doubtless  those  of  devils,  at  first 
moving  cautiously,  and  later  dancing  about 
it  in  the  obscurity  of  the  tall  hornbeam 
hedges. 

At  length  the  creature  retired  unsteadily, 
and  a  great  relief  filled  the  hearts  of  the  monks 
of  Fecamp. 

But  in  the  morning  as  they  scrutinised  the 


234  French  Abbeys 

spot  where  the  apparition  had  been  seen  they 
found  the  soaked  ground  trampled  and 
marked  by  human  feet,  instead,  as  they  had 
expected,  by  the  hoof -prints  of  fiends,  and  a 
light  began  to  break  in  upon  their  mental 
darkness.  It  was  possible — nay,  probable — 
that  they  were  the  victims  of  some  scurvy 
trick.  They  filled  the  caldron  again  and 
waited,  this  time  not  with  fear  and  prayer, 
but  with  clubs  and  staves. 

The  dragon  returned,  but  as  the  door  of  the 
Abbey  was  thrown  open,  and  the  light  of  all 
its  lamps  shone  upon  it,  the  beast  attempted 
to  turn  tail.  Too  late !  A  dozen  stout  monks 
were  upon  it,  twenty-four  strong  arms  be- 
laboured it  to  the  sound  of  derisive  laughter, 
until  from  its  painted  canvas  sides  there  is- 
sued cries  for  mercy,  and  there  crawled  from 
the  broken  effigy  two  bedraggled  men,  who 
writhed  and  cursed  and  threatened  and  im- 
plored, but  were  relentlessly  manacled  and 
dragged  before  the  Abbot. 

One  of  the  rascals  was  recognised  as  the 
scoundrel  Hilarius,  but  what  was  the  astonish- 
ment of  the  community  to  find  in  the  other 
their  landlord,  the  mighty  Seigneur  de  Bail- 
leul.  For  Hilarius  had  taken  him  into  his 
confidence,    and    the    cowardly    bully    (who 


The  Green  Dragon  of  Fecamp     235 

would  have  died  of  terror  had  he  met  un- 
warned the  mechanical  "fire-belching  Beel- 
zebub") considered  the  joke  such  a  rare  one 
that  he  insisted  in  participating  in  carrying  it 
out. 

The  tables  were  turned,  and  the  Abbot 
Orosius  made  his  own  terms  with  his  crest- 
fallen prisoners.  Hilarius  was  allowed  his 
liberty,  leaving  Beelzebub  as  a  trophy  to 
Fecamp,  where  he  remains  in  chains  to  this 
day;  and  Jean  de  Bailleul  was  glad  to  pur- 
chase the  silence  of  the  monks  by  assuring 
them  the  possession  of  their  lands  for  ever,  in 
return  for  an  annual  offering  of  a  cauldron  of 
the  precious  elixir. 

The  story  leaked  out  at  last  along  with  the 
flowing  cordial  at  his  own  board. 

"It  was  the  best  bargain  I  ever  made,"  he 
declared;  "for  what  could  the  Abbot  of  St. 
Ouen  have  given  me  comparable  to  this  ador- 
able liqueur  of  the  Benedictines  of  Fecamp?" 


CHAPTER  XII 

MADEMOISELLE  DE  FOLLEVILLE 

AN  EPISODE  IN   THE   HISTORY   OF   THE   ABBEY  OF  MONT 

SAINT  MICHEL,  AS  RELATED  BY  THE  HUGUENOT 

SOLDIER,  RAOUL  DE  RABLOTIERE 

I 

MOST  beautiful  of  my  early  visions — most 
terrible  of  all  the  memories  of  a  life 
spent  for  the  greater  part  in  warfare — the 
most  potent  influence  in  all  my  life, — that 
is  what  the  Abbey  stands  for  to  me. 

And  yet  I  have  spent  but  one  hour  within 
its  walls,  an  hour  which  showed  me  hell  and 
gave  me  heaven;  but  patience — you  shall 
have  the  story  in  due  order. 

You  know  the  spot,  a  rocky  pinnacle,  an 
island  when  the  tide  is  in,  and  when  it  is  out 
more  dangerous  of  approach  from  the  treach- 
ery of  moving  quicksands.  Not  unfittingly 
did   they   choose    as   its    patron    saint    the 

236 


STATUE  OF  THE  MONK  VINCELLI,  INVENTOR  OF  THE  BENEDICTINE  ELIXIR. 
By  permission  of  Neurdein  Freres. 


Mademoiselle  de  Folleville       237 

commander  of  the  hosts  of  the  archangels. 
Huguenot  though  I  am,  I  could  almost 
believe  that  Saint  Michel  has  ever  hov- 
ered with  his  legions  above  the  Mount, 
and  that  he  garrisoned  it  not  alone  with 
angels,  but  with  devils.  For,  even  before 
successive  fighting  Abbots  girdled  the  peak 
with  its  cincture  of  walls,  and  sentinelled  them 
with  friars  who  knew  their  manual  of  arms 
better  than  their  breviary,  the  Prince  of  the 
Power  of  the  Air,  whom  Saint  Michel  chained, 
summoned  his  tempests  to  protect  the  Abbey. 
Saint  Michel  an  Peril  du  Mer  it  has  always 
been,  but  never  in  peril  from  man.  Through 
the  century  of  war  with  England,  when  all  the 
west  of  France  was  lost,  Mont  Saint  Michel 
remained  invincibly  French,  and  now  that 
our  Henri  of  Navarre  had  swept  the  League 
from  the  same  region,  the  monks  of  the  for- 
tress Abbey  chanted  their  masses  in  impudent 
security. 

It  was  in  vain  that  the  Bearnais  had  set  the 
ablest  officer  in  his  command,  my  lifelong 
friend,  Gabriel  de  Montgomery,  the  task  of 
reducing  Mont  Saint  Michel,  and  that  he  had 
cut  off  all  succour  for  the  Abbey  from  the  land- 
ward side ;  swift-sailing  sloops  from  Saint  Malo, 
manned   by   descendants    of   those    Malouin 


238  French  Abbeys 

corsairs  who  had  delivered  the  Mount  from  the 
English  in  the  Hundred  Years'  War,  would 
elude  the  vigilance  of  our  harbour  officials,  and 
bring  the  beleaguered  monks  provisions. 

"I  will  make  myself  master  there  yet," 
Montgomery  growled;  "there  and  in  one 
other  quarter  that  I  wot  of.  The  Abbey  is 
like  a  provoking  coquette.  It  beckons  me  on 
and  holds  me  at  a  distance  continually,  but  I 
will  not  be  so  played  with  by  a  fortress  of 
mere  stone.  No,  nor  defied  by  a  pretty 
woman  who  gives  herself  the  airs  of  that 
same  Abbey." 

I  knew  better  than  to  ask  her  name  then, 
sure  that  I  would  learn  it  in  good  time  and 
confident,  too,  that  Montgomery  would  make 
good  his  boasting,  and  that  the  citadel  and 
the  woman  would  alike  yield  to  his  rough 
wooing. 

Meantime  I  came  to  know  the  Abbey  in 
many  aspects.  I  had  sailed  around  it  in 
reconnoitring  trips,  had  felt  the  charm  of  its 
flashing  attractiveness  from  the  seaward  side, 
and  had  heard  the  chiming  of  its  bells  and  the 
chanting  of  the  angelus  borne  softly  land- 
ward by  the  sea-breeze. 

It  was  more  varied  in  its  moods  than  a 
coquette,  for  there  were  times  when  it  struck 


Mademoiselle  de  Folleville       239 

me  with  the  chill  terror  of  the  supernatural. 
And  this  was  not  when  the  waves  were  dash- 
ing shoreward  like  mad  horsemen  to  cut  it 
off  from  all  approach,  but  in  the  gathering 
twilight,  when  the  tides  were  out,  and  only  a 
pool  here  and  there  red  as  blood  upon  the 
brown  sands  reflected  the  afterglow.  Then 
the  fog  came  in  and  wreathed  the  base  of  the 
Mount  with  fantastic  curling  shapes,  like 
ghosts  joining  hands  in  a  mysterious  dance, 
who  waved  and  beckoned  and  seemed  to 
call,  "Come,  come  to  your  death,  under  the 
shifting  quicksands." 

At  such  times  as  these  Mont  Saint  Michel 
seemed  to  me  so  intolerably  sad  and  sinister 
that  I  would  liefer  have  received  orders  to 
any  desperate  fight  in  a  fair  field  than  to  have 
known,  as  we  did  later,  that  the  fortress  was 
to  be  ours  simply  for  the  walk  across  those 
haunted  sands. 

But  before  that  ordeal  came,  with  its 
tragical  consequences,  much  was  to  happen  of 
supreme  moment  both  to  France  and  to  me, 
for  it  was  the  midsummer  of  1588,  the  year  of 
the  coming  of  the  Spanish  Armada  for  the 
conquest  of  England,  and  the  summer  in 
which  I  first  saw  Mademoiselle  de  Folleville. 

Therefore,  if  I  now  make  a  divergence  from 


240  French  Abbeys 

Mont  Saint  Michel,  be  assured  that  it  is  but  a 
circuitous  road  for  the  necessary  relation  of 
certain  events  instrumental  in  bringing  us  to 
the  Abbey ;  I  having  never  learned  the  craft 
of  those  romancers  whose  tales  fly  as  straight 
to  their  end  as  an  arrow  to  a  target. 

On  this  summer  then  the  entire  coast  of 
Normandy  was  patrolled  by  Montgomery's 
men,  for  he  was  determined  to  carry  out  the 
orders  of  Henri  of  Navarre  that  no  Spaniard 
should  land  on  French  soil  or  receive  help  of 
any  kind  from  Frenchmen.  The  Comte  de 
Montgomery,  who  had  his  hands  filled  by  the 
task  of  keeping  the  Saint  Malo  fisher  fleet 
shut  up  within  their  harbour,  and  so  from  aid- 
ing the  Spaniards,  deputed  to  me  the  inspec- 
tion of  that  portion  of  the  Norman  coast  which 
lies  between  Cherbourg  and  Honfleur.  I  had 
instructions  to  make  my  headquarters  at  the 
little  hamlet  of  Lion-sur-Mer ;  not  from  the 
fact  that  there  was  any  likelihood  that  an 
incursion  might  be  expected  here,  but  because 
my  friend  was  desirous  of  impressing  the 
ladies  of  the  chateau  with  his  solicitude  for 
their  welfare. 

"I  must  confess,"  the  Count  admitted  to 
me,  "that  though  I  have  long  wooed  her, 
Mademoiselle  de  Folleville  has  never  granted 


Mademoiselle  de  Folleville       241 

me  any  very  assuring  proofs  of  her  favour. 
She  is  a  tantalising  little  witch,  endowed  with 
more  than  her  share  of  coquetry;  and  yet  I 
fancy  that  she  might  love  me  were  it  not  that 
she  is  a  bigoted  Catholic.  I  depend  upon  you, 
my  dear  Raoul,  to  dissipate  her  prejudices. 
I  have  in  this  letter  begged  her  widowed 
mother,  for  the  sake  of  their  greater  safety  at 
this  perilous  time,  to  grant  you  and  a  few 
of  your  command  the  hospitality  of  their 
chateau. 

' '  It  is  a  delicate  mission  which  I  confide  to 
you,  my  friend,  but  I  count  not  only  on  your 
affection  for  me,  but  also  not  a  little  on  your 
never-failing  tact  and  your  prepossessing 
personality. ' ' 

"Nonsense,"  I  answered,  but  flattered  in 
despite  of  my  disclaimer.  "Nonsense  as  to 
the  latter  qualifications,  but  you  may  count 
on  my  devotion  now  and  always." 

I  delivered  my  friend's  letter  immediately 
upon  my  arrival  at  Lion-sur-Mer ;  but  its 
reception  augured  little  for  the  success  of  my 
errand.  The  sour-faced  old  servitor  who  took 
it  showed  me  into  a  long  drawing-room, 
where  I  was  left  to  cool  my  heels  for  a  length 
of  time  which  I  might  have  regarded  as  in- 
sufferable but  for  a  little  incident  that  caused 
16 


242  French  Abbeys 

it  to  pass  very  pleasantly.  As  I  entered  the 
salon  I  noticed  at  its  farther  end  a  pretty 
maid-servant  in  a  somewhat  peculiar  plight. 

She  had  climbed  from  the  back  of  a  chair 
to  the  mantel-shelf  in  order  to  wind  a  clock, 
which  hung  upon  the  wall  above  the  mirror, 
and,  startled  by  my  entrance,  had  endeav- 
oured rather  precipitately  to  descend,  but  in 
so  doing  had  pushed  the  chair  beyond  her 
reach.  She  now  knelt  with  her  face  to  the 
wall, — for  the  shelf  was  too  narrow  to  permit 
her  to  turn, — and  was  making  frantic  efforts 
with  one  pretty  slippered  foot  to  find  the  back 
of  the  treacherous  chair.  She  could  see  my 
reflection  in  the  mirror,  by  whose  frame  she 
steadied  herself,  and  I  regret  to  confess  that 
my  face  was  convulsed  with  mirth. 

I  was  ungallant  doubtless  in  offering  her  no 
escape  from  her  predicament,  but  she  was  far 
too  bewitching  in  her  rosy  embarrassment  to 
permit  of  any  act  on  my  part  which  would 
have  ended  the  enforced  tete-a-tete. 

Her  dress  I  cannot  now  recall.  It  was  of 
some  light  material  which  then  seemed  to  me 
appropriate  to  her  condition,  but  marvel- 
lously becoming.  The  bodice,  I  remember, 
was  cut  square,  and  showed  the  lovely  curves 
of  her  neck  clustered  with  little  rings  of  au- 


Mademoiselle  de  Folleville       243 

burn  hair,  which  escaped  from  a  mob-cap, 
such  as  housemaids  wear,  and  ladies  also,  as 
I  have  since  learned,  in  their  morning  negligee. 

I  had  hardly  time  to  observe  so  much  as 
this  when,  recovering  her  self-possession  in 
spite  of  my  quizzical  stare,  the  little  rogue 
made  me  a  saucy  mou.  ''Why  do  you  not 
help  me  down,  imbecile?"  she  asked  with 
a  pique  which  was  as  charming  as  her 
confusion. 

Thus  challenged,  I  promptly  encircled  the 
shapely  waist  with  my  great  hands. 

"No,  not  in  that  way,  Monsieur  Imperti- 
nence," she  cried.     "Give  me  the  chair." 

1 '  And  what  will  you  give  me  in  return  ? — a 
kiss?" 

"Certainly  not,  insolent  creature.  The 
chair,  I  say,  the  chair!" 

"Oh,  very  well,  remain  where  you  are,"  I 
replied,  removing  the  chair  a  little  farther 
and  seating  myself  in  it.  "You  make  an  un- 
commonly charming  mantel  ornament." 

1 '  Insufferable !  Francois !  Francois !  A  u 
secours!" 

"If  Francois  is  the  name  of  the  old  tub  of 
vinegar  who  admitted  me,"  I  rejoined,  "I 
am  happy  to  inform  you  that  he  is  out  of  hear- 
ing, having  gone  in  search  of  your  mistress." 


244  French  Abbeys 

A  slight  spasm,  entirely  incomprehensible 
to  me,  shook  the  frame  of  my  fair  prisoner. 
Fearing  that  she  would  fall,  I  was  at  her  side 
in  an  instant,  and  again  held  her  securely. 

"Unhand  me,"  she  insisted,  but  she  was 
not  angry  for  all  her  pretence,  for  to  my 
astonishment  the  minx  was  choking  with 
laughter. 

"He  is  looking  for  my  mistress!''  she  re- 
peated. "If  he  had  asked  me  her  where- 
abouts he  would  have  found  her  the  sooner." 

"It  is  fortunate  for  me,"  I  replied,  "that 
he  did  not  ask  you." 

"Perhaps  you  are  not  so  fortunate  as  you 
imagine,"  she  retorted.  "What  is  your  busi- 
ness with  my  mistress,  Monsieur  Sauce-box?" 

"I  have  come  to  pay  her  a  visit." 

"How  so,  when  she  does  not  know  you." 

"How  do  you  know  that,  little  one?" 

The  maid  gave  an  involuntary  gasp,  but 
answered  promptly: 

"Because  Mademoiselle  is  very  particular 
about  her  acquaintances.  Nothing  is  so  re- 
volting to  her  as  freedom  of  manners.  For 
instance,  you  would  never  dare  hold  her  by 
the  waist  as  you  are  holding  me." 

"Assuredly  not,  and  as  probably  I  would 
have  no  yearning  to  attempt  it." 


Mademoiselle  de  Folleville       245 

"So  we  have  a  different  etiquette  for  fine 
ladies.  I  would  have  you  to  know  that  my 
mistress  is  very  fond  of  me,  and  would  turn 
you  from  the  chateau  if  you  offered  me  the 
least  discourtesy." 

"I  mean  you  none,  my  dear,  and,  as  I  fore- 
see that  we  are  to  be  good  friends,  pray  tell 
me  your  name.     I  am  sure  it  is  a  pretty  one." 

"You  may  call  me  Coralie — if  you  stay; 
but  I  am  by  no  means  certain  that  you  will  be 
permitted  to  do  so.  Why  have  you  come  to 
Lion-sur-Mer  ? " 

"To  woo  your  mistress,  and  I  want  your 
help." 

"You  are  frank,  surely.  Do  you  imagine 
that  it  would  help  your  cause  if  she  should 
discover  you  now,  or  that  either  of  us  wTould 
be  pleased  to  know  that  you  were  making  love 
to  both?" 

"  I  do  not  think  she  will  mind,"  I  ventured, 
"if  you  do  not." 

Again  Coralie  started,  and  this  time  so 
violently  that  she  fell  backward  from  the 
mantel  plump  into  my  arms. 

"You  are  the  most  audacious  man  I  ever 
met,"  she  exclaimed,  as  she  extricated  herself 
from  my  embrace.  "What  do  you  mean  by 
such  an  extraordinary  remark?" 


246  French  Abbeys 

' '  I  mean  that  it  could  be  no  concern  of  your 
mistress  if  I  should  fall  in  love  with  you,  since 
I  have  come  to  woo  her,  not  for  myself,  but 
for  a  friend." 

1 '  Indeed,  this  is  very  interesting.  And  who 
is  this  chicken-hearted  friend  who  cannot  do 
his  own  wooing?  Tell  me  of  him,  but  be 
franker  with  me  than  you  wTill  be  with 
Mademoiselle.  Does  he  really  deserve  her? 
Since  he  is  as  bashful  as  you  are  bold,  is  he  as 
brave  with  men  as  he  is  timid  with  ladies?" 

"Yes,  to  both  questions.  He  is  good  and 
brave,  noble-born  and  attractive  of  person. 
He  is  Count  Gabriel  de  Montgomery." 

Coralie's  nose  took  an  upward  cock.  "Nay, 
you  may  dislike  him,"  I  protested,  "but  you 
cannot  despise  him.  His  deeds  prove  his 
worth.  He  has  made  himself  master  of  Nor- 
mandy. Only  the  fortress  Abbey  of  Mont 
Saint  Michel  still  defies  him,  and  he  will  be 
commander  there  ere  long;  and  he  will  win 
your  mistress,  for  these  are  his  two  great  am- 
bitions, and  where  he  sets  his  heart  he  ever 
succeeds." 

"He  will  never  win  Mademoiselle  de  Folle- 
ville,"  she  persisted,  "heretic  that  he  is,  and 
son  of  the  man  who  killed  the  good  King 
Henri  II.  by  perfidy  in  the  joust." 


Mademoiselle  de  Folleville       247 

"Not  by  perfidy,"  I  maintained.  "It  was 
an  accident  that  the  splintered  lance  pierced 
the  King's  brain;  and  it  was  Catherine  de' 
Medici's  unreasoning  rancour  which  drove 
the  father  of  my  friend  into  affiliation  with 
Coligny.  His  murder  in  cold  blood  after  he 
was  taken  prisoner  is  the  deed  which  his  son 
Count  Gabriel  de  Montgomery  will  never 
forgive.  But  for  that  heritage  of  revenge  he 
would  be  a  merciful  man." 

"You  may  cease  your  praises,"  said  Coralie, 
"for  here  comes  Francois,"  and  she  slipped 
quickly  through  the  long  window  into  the 
garden,  as  the  old  servitor  shuffled  in  with  the 
letter  still  on  his  tray. 

"I  cannot  find  Mademoiselle,"  he  said, 
"though  I  have  looked  for  her  all  over  the 
chateau,  and  Madame,  who  is  an  invalid, 
bade  me  take  the  letter  to  her  for  an 
answer." 

"Francois,  come  here,"  called  Coralie  from 
the  garden,  and  the  old  man  hurriedly  re- 
sponded to  the  summons.  He  returned  pre- 
sently, bringing  the  response  of  Mademoiselle 
de  Folleville,  which  was  to  the  effect  that  as 
the  Comte  de  Montgomery  was  for  the  present 
military  commander  of  the  district,  his  right 
to  billet  soldiers  on  the  householders  was  not 


248  French  Abbeys 

to  be  denied,  and  a  room  in  the  chateau  was 
at  my  service,  while  my  men  could  be  lodged 
in  the  outbuildings. 

Indignant  as  I  was  at  this  arrogance,  I 
made  no  retort,  trusting  to  the  tact  which  my 
friend  had  vaunted  to  overcome  the  preju- 
dices of  my  ungracious  hostess.  I  was  soon 
disillusioned,  although  I  could  not  complain 
of  my  entertainment  in  any  other  respect. 
Madame  and  Mademoiselle  de  Folleville 
persistently  denied  me  their  company,  even 
taking  their  meals  in  their  own  rooms,  and 
giving  me  no  opportunity  to  hypnotise  them 
into  receptivity  of  my  friend's  suit. 

Personally  I  was  quite  indifferent  to  the 
airs  or  sulks  of  these  grand  dames,  for  if  the 
mistresses  were  unkind,  the  maid  was  gen- 
erous of  her  sprightly  conversation.  As  I 
confessed  to  Coralie,  though  well  born  my- 
self, I  am  always  somewhat  abashed  in  the 
presence  of  noble  ladies.  Etiquette  and 
courtesy  and  all  the  artificialities  of  polite 
society  are  to  me  well-nigh  insufferable ;  and 
I  would  not  have  reached  so  familiar  a  footing 
with  Mademoiselle  de  Folleville  in  a  score  of 
years  as  that  on  which  I  found  myself  with 
her  bewitching  maid  after  our  first  half -hour 
of  badinage.     Nor  was  she  such  an  empty- 


Mademoiselle  de  Folleville       249 

headed  minx  as  I  may  unwittingly  have 
painted.  For  all  her  kittenish  playfulness 
she  knew  how  to  keep  my  respect.  If  her 
tongue  was  free  so  were  not  her  manners,  and 
her  spirits  never  ran  away  from  her  control. 
So  that  I  oft  fell  to  wondering  that  a  girl  of 
her  lowly  station  should  possess  her  innate 
refinement.  I  was  sure,  even  before  I  ob- 
tained an  inkling  of  her  history,  that  some- 
where in  her  ancestry  there  had  been  a 
strain  of  gentle  blood.  Standing  one  morn- 
ing before  a  portrait  of  the  late  Leonce  de 
Folleville,  Seigneur  of  Lion-sur-Mer,  I  was 
struck  by  Coralie's  resemblance  to  the  old 
Baron.  There  was  the  same  curling  red-gold 
hair,  the  same  green-blue  eyes  and  elusive, 
mocking  smile. 

Only — and  I  strove  to  analyse  the  differ- 
ence— I  found  Coralie's  face  charming,  and  I 
liked  not  overmuch  the  one  upon  the  canvas. 

And  yet  there  was  no  cruelty  or  sensuality 
in  the  distinguished  features,  which  might 
have  been  those  of  a  statesman,  so  intellectual 
was  the  forehead,  so  crafty  keen  the  slant, 
half -shut  eyes.  It  was  not  the  pointed  red 
beard  alone  which  gave  the  face  a  vulpine 
look ;  ruse  and  deceit  were  stamped  in  the  in- 
sincere smile,  and  the  sensitive  nostrils  were 


250  French  Abbeys 

drawn  close  in  a  hateful  sneer, — as  though  in 
scorn  of  his  victim. 

Coralie's  eyes  frequently  regarded  me  with 
an  indefinable  expression,  which  resembled 
this.  It  was  as  though  she  were  acting  a  part, 
and  glanced  swiftly  askance  to  see  how  her 
audience  of  one  accepted  it.  At  such  mo- 
ments a  smile,  sweet  but  derisive,  curled  her 
lips,  and  she  would  banter  me  unmercifully 
on  my  ill-success  in  wooing  Mademoiselle  for 
my  friend. 

"Nay,  how  can  I  succeed,  since  she  will  not 
see  me  ? "  I  would  reply. 

"And  if  I  bring  about  an  interview,"  she 
would  ask  mischievously,  "will  you  swear  to 
me  that  you  will  not  woo  her  for  yourself?" 

And  when  I  protested  that  I  would  not  so 
woo  her,  nay,  not  if  she  were  an  angel  and  I 
loved  her  with  my  whole  heart,  for  that  were 
disloyalty  to  my  friend,  she  laughed  and 
railed  on  me,  saying  that  I  had  not  the  spirit 
of  a  mouse  to  make  love  to  a  woman  either 
for  myself  or  another. 

I  admitted  that  this  might  well  be  in  the 
case  of  ladies  of  quality,  of  whom  I  ever  stood 
in  awe,  but  that  I  blessed  Providence  that 
had  fenced  her  with  no  such  barriers  of  rank 
and  breeding,  but  had  made  her  the  sweetest 


Mademoiselle  de  Folleville        251 

wild  rose  that  ever  grew  in  the  hedges.  All 
this  badinage  on  her  side  was  such  pretty 
mockery,  and  she  so  evidently  found  her  mis- 
chief diverting,  that  I  loved  her  the  more  the 
less  I  understood  her.  But  now,  as  I  noted 
her  resemblance  to  the  Baron,  her  playfulness 
seemed  an  innate  passion  for  deceit,  with  no 
other  end  in  view  than  the  mere  pleasure  of 
making  a  dupe. 

' '  She  is  enough  like  him  to  be  his  daughter," 
I  said,  to  myself  as  I  fancied,  for  I  had  not 
marked  that  the  old  butler  was  standing  be- 
hind me. 

"She  is  his  daughter,"  he  answered. 

I  wheeled  sharply.  "It  is  time  Monsieur 
knew  the  truth,"  he  continued  steadily.  "If 
Mademoiselle  chooses  to  pass  for  what  she  is 
not,  I  will  be  no  party  to  the  deception,  for  I 
would  not  see  her  make  a  fool  of  an  honest 
man." 

"Your  conscience  may  rest  easy,"  I  replied 
coldly.  "I  am  content  with  as  much  or  as 
little  as  Mademoiselle  Coralie  desires  to  tell 
me." 

She  entered  as  I  ceased  speaking,  and 
Francois  slunk  guiltily  away.  Her  eye 
glanced  from  me  to  the  portrait  with  keen 
intuition. 


252  French  Abbeys 

"Francois  has  told  you,"  she  said. 

"He  has  told  me,"  I  replied,  "but  what- 
ever may  have  been  the  fault  of  your  parents, 
it  is  not  yours.  Be  assured  that  it  matters 
not  to  me  that  you  are  the  half-sister  of 
Mademoiselle  de  Folleville.  Nay,  it  does 
make  a  difference;  for  any  trouble  you  may 
suffer  I  ask  the  right  to  share.  I  love  you  the 
more  because  you  bear  this  family  no  envy  or 
malice,  but  hide  your  grief  under  a  sweet 
gaiety  which  is  nothing  short  of  heroism,  and 
I  shall  count  it  the  highest  honour  of  my  life, 
Coralie,  if  you  will  be  my  wife."  It  must  not 
be  thought  that  it  cost  me  nothing  to  make 
this  speech,  for  though  not  of  the  haute  no- 
blesse I  am  a  gentleman,  and  I  had  before  my 
eyes  the  consternation  of  my  mother  when 
she  should  hear  that  I  was  to  mate  with  a 
menial.  Nevertheless,  my  mind  was  made 
up  and  I  poured  it  forth.  Coralie  gave  me 
no  answer  for  a  little  space;  wonder  and 
blank  dismay,  and  other  emotions  inexplic- 
able to  me,  strove  with  her  happiness,  and  so 
wrought  upon  her  that  at  last  she  broke  into 
hysterical  laughter,  clinging  to  me  the  while 
and  hiding  her  face  upon  my  shoulder. 

"So  you  love  me  in  spite  of  everything," 
she  said.     "Oh!  you  are  good,  good,  Raoul, 


Mademoiselle  de  Folleville       253 

though  a  Huguenot.  Religion  shall  not  part 
us.  Nothing  shall  part  us  after  this,  if  what 
you  protest  is  true." 

"True,  as  I  know  that  you  are  Coralie. 
Henceforth,  let  us  have  no  secrets  from  each 
other.  Why  did  you  not  tell  me  all  before  ? 
You  might  have  trusted  me. ' ' 

"I  could  not  tell  you,  Raoul,  that  I  was  the 
illegitimate  daughter  of  the  Baron  de  Folle- 
ville, for  I  do  not  believe  it.  It  is  not  true. 
My  mother  is  a  saint." 

"I  will  love  you  and  believe  in  you  what- 
ever else  I  may  be  forced  to  believe,"  I  as- 
serted, "for  I  am  sure  that  you  would  never 
intentionally  deceive  me."  I  could  say  no 
more,  for  I  was  convinced  from  the  marvellous 
resemblance  to  the  portrait  that  Francois  had 
spoken  the  truth,  as  indeed  he  had. 

So  we  were  betrothed,  to  wait  on  fortune 
for  our  spousals  until  the  wars  should  be 
ended.  And  now  suddenly  there  wTas  sprung 
upon  me  other  work  than  the  wooing  of 
maids  whether  of  high  or  low  degree.  For 
the  business  on  which  I  was  ostensibly  sent 
proved  to  be  other  than  the  sinecure  Mont- 
gomery had  thought.  The  Armada  was 
even  then  sailing  up  the  Channel  in  all  its 
pride  and  vainglory ;   but  Hawkins  had  word 


254  French  Abbeys 

of  its  approach,  and  he  and  Howard  of 
Effingham,  with  some  of  Drake's  privateers, 
came  out  to  meet  it.  The  engagement  took 
place  nearly  opposite  Lion-sur-Mer, — as  we 
were  soon  to  have  proof. 

One  of  my  men,  Goupigny  by  name,  whom 
I  had  posted  as  nearest  coast-guard,  brought 
me  the  first  intimation  of  the  arrival  of  the 
fleet,  for  he  had  noted  extraordinary  agitation 
among  the  fisher  folk.  The  women  kept  a 
constant  watch  to  seaward,  while  the  men 
were  continually  flitting  hither  and  thither 
in  their  small  craft  on  the  lookout  for  other 
hauls  than  fish.  They  were  many  of  them 
wreckers,  and  were  soon  to  have  opportunity 
to  pick  casks  of  Spanish  wine  and  other  com- 
modities from  the  flotsam  and  jetsam  which 
the  tides  brought  in;  for  two  days  later  a 
fierce  westerly  gale  drove  the  dismantled 
Spanish  galleon,  San  Salvador,  upon  the  reef 
before  Lion-sur-Mer,  and  strewed  all  our  coast 
with  wreckage. 

At  the  first  news  of  what  had  occurred,  I 
took  horse  and  rode  to  the  cliff  where  was  the 
little  lookout  in  which  I  had  posted  Gou- 
pigny. He  was  not  there ;  nor  did  I  marvel, 
for,  as  I  looked  seaward,  I  could  see  the  tre- 
mendous surges  pounding  the  stranded  ship, 


Mademoiselle  de  Folleville       255 

which  was  fast  breaking  up,  and  throwing 
upon  the  sands  with  every  return  some  dark 
object,  bales  and  splintered  beams  tangled 
with  cordage,  and  here  and  there  the  bodies 
of  sailors,  the  life  beaten  out  of  them  by  the 
sea. 

As  I  looked  I  saw  one  flung  upon  the  beach 
who  was  not  quite  dead.  He  stumbled  to  his 
feet,  ran  a  few  steps,  then  dropped  exhausted, 
just  out  of  reach  of  the  ebbing  wave,  which 
reached  out  a  treacherous  fringed  paw  for  its 
prey,  and  then  fled  backward  to  wrench  more 
plunder  from  the  ship.  An  instant  later  a 
man  hurried  along  the  base  of  the  cliff  to  the 
shipwrecked  Spaniard.  I  saw  him  rifle  his 
pockets,  take  from  his  neck  a  gold  chain,  and 
he  was  hacking  off  his  fingers  with  a  knife  in 
order  to  secure  his  rings  when  the  pain 
brought  the  Spaniard  to  his  senses,  and  he 
dealt  the  thief  a  blow  in  the  face.  The 
wrecker  drew  off,  running  back  for  his  gun, 
which  he  had  left  at  a  distance,  and  as  he 
raised  it  to  take  aim,  I  recognised  my  per- 
fidious coast-guard  Goupigny. 

I  shouted  with  all  my  might,  but  the  roar 
of  the  winds  and  waves  drowned  my  voice, 
and  the  Spaniard  would  certainly  have  been 
killed  but  for  the  sudden  appearance  of  an 


256  French  Abbeys 

intrepid  horsewoman,  who  galloped  toward 
the  miscreant,  striking  at  him  with  her  whip. 
Goupigny  grasped  at  the  reins,  but  the  reso- 
lute woman  dropped  her  whip  and  drew  a 
cavalry  pistol  from  its  holster,  whereupon 
the  coward  fell  to  his  knees  and  whined  for 
mercy,  presently  retreating  under  the  edge  of 
the  cliff,  and  so  out  of  my  sight.  Coralie  (for 
it  was  none  other)  sprang  from  her  horse,  and 
binding  the  Spaniard's  wounded  hand  with 
her  kerchief,  assisted  him  to  mount,  walking 
by  his  side  and  leading  the  horse. 

I  was  eager  to  meet  the  actors  in  this  little 
drama,  but  the  face  of  the  cliff  was  too  pre- 
cipitous for  me  to  descend  at  this  point,  and 
when  I  reached  the  shore  it  was. deserted  by 
the  three  persons  whom  I  have  mentioned. 
But  other  bodies  were  being  brought  in  by 
the  tide,  and  presently  the  wreckers  gathered 
like  vultures,  and  I  had  business  enough  be- 
fore me.  Fortunately,  my  squad  of  soldiers 
arrived  upon  the  scene  in  time  to  enforce  my 
authority,  and  there  was  no  more  robbing  of 
the  dead.  Of  slaying  there  was  no  need,  for 
the  sea  had  had  its  will  upon  them  all.  Pre- 
sently Goupigny  himself  joined  us,  and,  not 
knowing  that  I  had  been  a  witness  of  the  late 
occurrence,    asserted   that    Mademoiselle    de 


Mademoiselle  de  Folleville       257 

Folleville  had  brought  a  band  of  armed  re- 
tainers, and  had  rescued  from  his  safeguard  a 
formidable  Spanish  officer  whom  he  had 
valiantly  taken  prisoner. 

With  that  I  ordered  my  men  to  seize  him, 
and  told  him  how  I  had  witnessed  his  at- 
tempt to  murder  a  helpless  man,  having  first 
robbed  him;  and,  the  booty  being  found  upon 
his  person,  I  ordered  him  to  be  put  in  irons 
until  the  coming  of  Montgomery,  who  would 
certainly  have  him  hanged. 

The  knave  retorted  right  insolently  that 
Montgomery's  explicit  orders  were  at  all 
hazards  to  prevent  the  landing  of  Spaniards, 
and  if,  on  searching  the  chateau  of  Lion- 
sur-Mer,  this  one  were  found  concealed  and 
nourished,  I  and  not  he  would  stand  a  good 
chance  of  hanging. 

I  winced  at  that,  for  he  spoke  not  far  from 
the  truth,  and  I  made  speed  to  tell  Coralie 
that  I  knew  of  her  exploit,  and  to  beg  her  to 
allow  me  to  send  the  Spaniard  under  escort 
to  Montgomery.  But  this  she  roundly  refused 
to  do,  fearing  for  his  safety. 

"You  should  know  me  well  enough,"  she 
said,  "to  be  assured  that  I  will  always  help 
the  losing  side.  That  will  be  your  side  soon. 
Your  precious  Montgomery  will  never  attain 


258  French  Abbeys 

his  pet  ambition  of  becoming  master  of  Mont 
Saint  Michel.  The  Spaniards,  after  they 
have  conquered  England,  will  cross  the 
Channel  and  sweep  the  Huguenots  out  of 
France.  The  tables  will  be  turned  then,  for, 
instead  of  your  protecting  us,  we  shall  have 
to  protect  you." 

"Would  you  help  me,  Coralie,"  I  asked, 
"if  my  life  were  in  your  hands?" 

"Surely,"  she  answered. 

"Then  help  me  now  that  my  honour  is  at 
stake,"  I  pleaded.  "I  have  sent  an  express  for 
Montgomery,  and  when  he  comes,  even  if  I 
hold  my  tongue  in  regard  to  this  man,  Gou- 
pigny  will  not.  The  chateau  will  be  searched, 
and  the  Spaniard  will  gain  nothing  by  my 
disgrace." 

She  thought  for  a  moment.  "  I  do  not  de- 
sire your  dishonour,"  she  mused.  "Ah!  I 
have  it.  Mademoiselle  shall  deal  with  your 
master.  She  has  as  much  wit  as  I,  and  is 
more  personable  and  winsome." 

"That  were  impossible,"  I  vowed. 

"Nay,"  she  persisted,  "were  we  equal  in 
other  respects,  there  is  an  attractiveness  in 
rank  and  fine  clothes,  my  dear  Raoul,  which 
will  lend  to  any  woman  an  added  charm. 
If  I  have  won  your  heart,  Mademoiselle,  with 


Mademoiselle  de  Folleville       259 

her  greater  advantages,  can  surely  win  him 
to  mercy.  Only  let  your  prisoner  bide  here 
until  Montgomery  comes,  for  indeed  he  is  not 
able  to  march  as  far  as  Caen." 

"The  Comte  de  Montgomery  is  a  stronger 
man  than  I,  Coralie.  Your  mistress  could 
not  swerve  him  from  his  duty.  I  will  keep 
the  Spaniard  here  if  you  insist,  but  when  the 
Comte  comes,  I  shall  deliver  him  up." 

Her  eyes  danced  with  triumph.  "  'T  is  all 
I  ask,"  she  cried.  "Search  the  chateau. 
Nay,  I  will  not  put  you  to  that  trouble.  He 
is  in  the  room  above  your  own,  and  here  is  the 
key.  Arrest  him,  make  your  report  to  Mont- 
gomery. You  will  surely  not  be  to  blame  if, 
in  spite  of  all  your  precautions,  the  bird  will 
have  flown." 

"Coralie,"  I  answered,  seriously,  "I  will  not 
be  your  accomplice.  I  warn  you  that  I  shall 
do  all  I  can  to  keep  my  prisoner." 

"Do  your  best,  do  your  worst,"  she  chal- 
lenged me,  "and  I  will  outwit  you." 

I  had  a  premonition  that  she  spoke  truly, 
but  when  I  had  seen  the  Spaniard  I  did  not 
greatly  care,  for  I  found  him  slight  of  figure, 
of  gentle  manners,  and  suffering,  moreover, 
from  the  nervous  shock  occasioned  by  his  late 
experiences. 


260  French  Abbeys 

What  Montgomery  would  do  with  him  I 
knew  not.  The  best  that  could  be  hoped  for 
was  rigorous  imprisonment  until  his  status 
could  be  determined,  and  in  his  condition 
this  might  mean  death.  I  therefore  locked 
him  into  the  room  and  posted  an  incorrupti- 
ble guard  before  the  door,  as  in  duty  bound, 
hoping  all  the  while  that  Coralie  might  find 
some  way  to  keep  her  word. 

My  quarters  at  the  chateau  were  on  the 
third  floor  above  the  main  entrance,  the  win- 
dows giving  view  in  two  directions.  From 
one  I  could  look  down  upon  a  rich  dormer  in 
the  Renaissance  style  which  lighted  Made- 
moiselle de  Folleville's  apartment  and  some- 
times afforded  me  a  glimpse  of  Coralie.  In 
the  angle  of  the  walls  between  there  was  a 
slender  tourelle,  holding  (as  I  judged  from 
studying  it  from  without)  a  spiral  staircase. 
I  could  see  that  it  might  very  easily  be  a 
means  of  communication  between  Made- 
moiselle's room  and  the  Spaniard's,  and  one 
would  naturally  expect  to  find  a  door  leading 
from  this  staircase  to  my  room  as  well. 

It  was  therefore  a  little  odd  that  the  only 
apparent  entrance  to  my  chamber  and  to  the 
one  above  it  was  upon  the  other  side,  from  a 
large  hall  running  through  the  centre  of  the 


CHATEAU  OF  LION-SUR-MER. 


Mademoiselle  de  Folleville       261 

chateau.  I  examined  the  wall  carefully  upon 
the  inside.  It  was  panelled  in  oak,  and  feel- 
ing along  the  moulding  I  presently  lighted 
upon  a  spring  which  would  have  released  a 
sliding  door  had  it  not  been  firmly  nailed  up 
from  the  staircase  side.  The  points  of  the 
nails  driven  through  the  panel  and  moulding 
protruded  slightly  into  my  chamber.  They 
were  untarnished  by  rust,  and  shining.  I 
concluded,  therefore,  that  they  had  been  re- 
cently driven,  to  keep  me  from  using  the 
staircase.  I  doubted  whether  the  same  pre- 
cautions had  been  taken  in  the  case  of  the 
Spaniard,  and,  if  not,  saw  that  he  could  very 
easily  elude  my  guard  and  leave  the  chateau 
in  this  way.  I  had  a  guess,  too,  of  where  he 
would  go,  and  by  what  means;  for  a  mys- 
terious, swift-sailing  pinnace  had  been  sighted 
that  evening  by  one  of  my  coast-guards,  who 
knew  it  for  one  of  the  Saint  Malo  fleet,  manned 
by  the  half -pirate  Malouins  whom  Mont- 
gomery was  striving  to  keep  in  their  inner 
harbour,  but  who  were  always  eluding  his 
vigilance  and  stealing  forth  to  smuggle  sup- 
plies to  Mont  Saint  Michel,  or  otherwise  aid 
the  Catholic  cause.  My  man  recognised  this 
particular  pinnace  from  its  sails,  patched  with 
bars   of  red  cloth,  making  the  double  cross  of 


262  French  Abbeys 

the  house  of  Lorraine ;  while  the  bouquets  of 
blessed  box  on  the  mastheads  further  an- 
nounced the  faith  of  her  captain,  who  had 
probably  witnessed  the  sea-fight,  and  had 
followed  the  San  Salvador,  hoping  to  be  of 
some  assistance  when  it  was  driven  upon  our 
coast.  I  doubted  not  but  some  Catholic 
fisherman  would  inform  Mademoiselle  of  the 
presence  of  the  pinnace,-  and  that  the  Span- 
iard would  be  taken  on  board  that  very  night. 

I  had  strained  a  point  in  winking  at  this 
evasion  for  Coralie's  sake.  What  was  my 
vexation,  therefore,  as  I  lay  awake,  to  hear 
light  footsteps  tripping  up  and  down  the 
spiral  staircase,  and  in  the  morning  the  rest- 
less tread  of  my  prisoner  pacing  the  floor  at 
intervals. 

To  add  to  my  embarrassment,  the  Comte  de 
Montgomery  arrived  sooner  than  I  had  ex- 
pected, and  though  for  two  days  there  was 
business  enough  demanding  his  attention  re- 
lative to  the  wreckage  of  the  San  Salvador, 
which  included  guns  and  other  munitions  of 
war,  at  last  all  was  done,  and  I  could  not 
longer  delay  reporting  the  presence  of  the 
Spaniard.  Meantime  the  Count  was  better 
entertained  than  I  had  been,  for  the  apparte- 
ment  de  parade  with  the  oriel  windows  was 


Mademoiselle  de  Folleville       263 

assigned  to  him,  and  the  ladies  dined  with 
him  daily,  a  privilege  which  had  never  been 
granted  me.  Nevertheless,  when  I  finally 
opened  to  him  he  was  in  bad  humour. 

"Why  have  you  not  told  me  this  before ?" 
he  asked;  and  then,  regarding  me  keenly, 
added: 

"You  need  not  reply,  Raoul.  I  can  see  the 
hand  of  Mademoiselle  de  Folleville  here,  and, 
were  it  not  that  I  know  you  to  be  an  honour- 
able man,  I  might  also  reproach  you  that, 
with  all  your  opportunities,  you  have  not 
advanced  my  interests  with  her  one  whit." 

I  swore  that  it  irked  me  to  confess  it,  but 
I  had  had  no  opportunity,  having  never  been 
allowed  speech  with  Mademoiselle. 

"That  is  a  little  remarkable,"  he  replied, 
drily,  - '  for  she  has  had  much  to  tell  me  of  her 
conversations  with  you.  How  else,  indeed, 
could  she  have  learned  of  my  ambition  to  be 
Military  Commander  of  Mont  Saint  Michel?" 

I  saw  that  Coralie  must  have  betrayed 
my  confidences  to  her  lady,  who  had  told 
him. 

"Mistress  or  maid,  what  does  it  matter?" 
he  asked.  "It  remains  that  we  have  been 
juggled  with,  and  that  this  Spaniard  has 
doubtless  escaped." 


264  French  Abbeys 

"Pardon  me,"  I  contradicted.  "I  believe 
he  is  still  in  the  chateau,"  and  I  led  Mont- 
gomery to  the  room  in  which  I  had  locked  my 
prisoner;  but,  though  the  sentry  still  stood 
before  the  door,  it  was  empty.  The  door 
communicating  with  the  spiral  staircase  in  the 
tower  was,  like  that  in  my  own  chamber,  a 
secret  one,  and  though  I  could  see  the  crack 
where  the  sliding  panel  had  not  been  com- 
pletely closed,  I  did  not  even  then  point  it 
out  to  my  friend.  Nor  did  I  object  when  he 
bade  me  go  with  him  to  Mademoiselle  to  sift 
the  truth.  Coralie  had  kept  her  word  and 
tricked  me,  but  I  bore  her  no  malice,  for  I 
still  believed  that  she  loved  me. 

Mademoiselle  de  Folleville  was  standing  at 
the  window  of  her  boudoir,  watching,  as  I  be- 
lieve, for  our  departure,  for  Montgomery  had 
bidden  her  farewell,  and  the  groom  held  our 
horses  below.  She  turned  with  a  quick  move- 
ment as  though  she  would  have  fled,  but  she 
was  fairly  trapped,  and  faced  us  bravely, 
though  there  were  tears  in  her  eyes.  This 
tendered  me  not,  no,  nor  her  regal  beauty,  as 
she  stood  gowned  like  an  empress  in  pearl- 
broidered  satin,  with  pearls  braided  in  her 
hair. 

Neither  her  beauty  nor  her  emotion  moved 


Mademoiselle  de  Folleville       265 

me  one  whit,  naught  save  my  astonishment 
that  this  queenly  woman  who  answered  to 
Montgomery's  greeting  as  Mademoiselle  de 
Folleville — who  was  indeed  Mademoiselle — 
was  also  my  Coralie,  whom  I  had  believed 
so  childlike  and  innocent  in  all  her  sweet 
blithesomeness. 

What  my  friend  said  to  her  I  did  not  hear. 
I  only  looked,  and  looked  again,  bereft  of  my 
right  senses.  She  dared  not  meet  my  eyes 
though  she  faced  Montgomery  resolutely,  and 
his  reproaches,  angry  at  first,  quieted  under 
her  calm  gaze. 

"All  this  is  true,  Monsieur,"  I  heard  her 
admit  at  last ;  ' '  but  even  so,  in  what  have  I 
wronged  you?  If  I  believed  that  my  guest's 
life  was  not  safe  in  your  hands,  and  strove  to 
save  him  in  other  ways  than  through  wheed- 
ling you  with  a  pretence  of  affection,  am  I  so 
much  to  blame?" 

' '  And  what  of  me  ?  Have  you  been  as  open 
and  true  with  me?"  I  cried. 

"I  will  answer  you  another  time,  Monsieur 
de  Rablotiere,"  she  replied,  still  avoiding  my 
eyes. 

"Nay,  you  will  answer  me  now,  or  never," 
I  insisted.  "It  suited  not  with  your  ideas  of 
honour  to  purchase  favours  of  my  friend  for 


266  French  Abbeys 

love,  you  boast.  Then,  what  was  the  mean- 
ing of  this  game  you  played  with  me?" 

1  *  The  game  I  played  with  you  " — she  echoed 
my  words  without  a  tremor — "was  sprung 
upon  me  by  the  accident  of  our  meeting.  It 
had  no  other  motive  at  first  than  a  lonely 
girl's  whim,  her  enjoyment  in  the  acting  of  a 
little  comedy.  Afterwards — the  game  had 
other  stakes  than  the  moment's  pleasure,  or 
than  this  man's  life — "  But  here  her  voice 
broke,  and  she  turned  her  back  upon  me. 
God  forgive  me,  I  thought  her  feigning,  to 
dupe  me  again,  and  I  broke  out  hotly : 

"So  it  was  all  a  farce!  The  curtain  is 
down  at  last,  and  I  congratulate  you  on  your 
skill  as  an  actress,  Mademoiselle." 

"I  do  not  know  of  what  you  are  talking," 
bawled  Montgomery,  "unless  you  have  made 
a  fool  of  Rablotiere  as  well  as  of  me,  and  are 
striving  to  make  us  forget  the  question  in 
hand.  I  believe  that  you  are  still  secreting 
this  Spaniard,  and  I  demand  that  you  sur- 
render him  to  me,  if  he  is  not  your  lover.  In 
which  case,  Mademoiselle,  I  would  respect 
your  right  to  retain  him." 

Montgomery  spoke  with  a  bitterness  only 
pardonable  in  a  rejected  suitor.  Mademoi- 
selle flushed  to  the  roots  of  her  hair,  which 


Mademoiselle  de  Folleville       267 

seemed  also  to  burn  with  an  intenser  flame. 
She  turned  with  folded  arms,  and  for  the  first 
time  in  this  conversation  met  my  gaze,  though 
she  still  spoke  to  Montgomery. 

''You  are  right  thus  far,  Monsieur,"  she 
said.  "The  man  whom  I  love  is  underneath 
this  roof." 

Then  to  my  wonder — f  or  she  had  seemed  so 
strong — she  dropped  in  a  swoon. 

I  sprang  forward,  but  Montgomery's  iron 
grasp  was  on  my  arm.  "She  is  acting  still," 
he  said;  "ring  for  her  servants,  and  let  them 
call  the  jade's  lover.  This  is  no  place  for  us, 
Raoul ;  we  are  both  well  rid  of  her,  and  of  all 
women,  say  I,  for  the  rest  of  our  lives." 


II 


How  the  Armada  was  broken  by  that  en- 
counter with  the  English  sea-dogs,  and  fled  up 
the  North  Sea  before  them,  not  daring  to  re- 
turn as  it  had  come,  but  striving  to  round  the 
British  Isles  and  thus  make  its  way  back  to 
Spain;  how  the  winds  and  the  waves  fought 
for  England  and  sunk  the  ill-fated  ships,  or 
drove  them  upon  the  Irish  coast,  where  the 
barbarians  brained  the  shipwrecked  mariners 
with  clubs  and  stones ;  and  how  only  a  pitiful 


268  French  Abbeys 

remnant  of  those  who  had  sailed  away  so 
arrogantly  ever  reached  Spain,  where  the 
Admiral  of  the  flotilla  was  spat  upon  by 
mothers  whose  sons  had  perished  through 
his  cowardice, — all  this  is  an  old  and  a  well- 
known  story,  and  needs  not  that  I  recite  it 
here.  But  what  is  not  so  well  understood  in 
France  is  that  this  beating  which  the  Roman- 
ists received  at  the  hands  of  Protestant  Eng- 
land also  put  an  end  for  ever  to  Catholic 
despotism  in  France.  Only  a  show  of  power 
the  party  maintained,  and  such  horrors  as  the 
Inquisition  or  the  Saint  Bartholomew  could 
never  come  again  by  royal  consent  or  with 
that  of  the  people  of  France.  Though  of 
what  savagery  still  remained  in  out-of-the- 
way  corners  to  be  subdued  I  was  yet  to  be  a 
witness. 

Scarce  a  year  from  this  time  the  day  came 
for  which  Montgomery  had  so  ardently 
longed,  and  the  assault  of  Mont  Saint  Michel 
was  offered  him  with  every  likelihood  of  suc- 
cess, for  treachery  within  co-operated  with 
valour  without  the  walls. 

That  double  -  traitor  Goupigny,  false  to 
every  cause  as  well  as  to  every  master,  had 
escaped  from  prison  and  been  granted  asylum 
at  the  Mount.     In  recompense  for  this  kind- 


Mademoiselle  de  Folleville       269 

ness  he  had  immediately  entered  into  nego- 
tiation with  the  Comte  de  Montgomery, 
promising  for  two  hundred  crowns,  whose 
receipt  I  witnessed,  to  introduce  our  troops 
into  the  fortress,  where  we  could  fall  upon 
the  little  garrison  unawares,  and  then  easily 
subdue  the  defenceless  friars. 

I  had  no  stomach  for  this  adventure,  and 
this  not  alone  because  I  would  liefer  win  in  a 
fair  fight,  but  also  that  I  had  too  much  faith 
in  Goupigny's  unfaith,  believing  him  capable 
of  betraying  whatever  side  suited  his  own 
advantage.  His  greeting  was  somewhat  too 
oily  when  I  remembered  how  I  had  handled 
him  at  Lion-sur-Mer.  There  was  a  shadow  of 
that  treatment  in  the  ugly  look  he  gave  me 
when  he  said :  ' '  It  will  be  the  happiest  moment 
of  my  life  when  I  have  the  honour  of  welcom- 
ing you  to  Mont  Saint  Michel,  Monsieur  de 
Rablotiere." 

The  night  was  moonless  and  but  fitfully 
starlit  between  scudding  clouds  when  our 
band,  two  hundred  strong,  marched  out  from 
Pont  Orson  across  the  sands,  between  the  ebb 
and  flow  of  the  tide.  The  Mount  loomed  be- 
fore us  uncommonly  grim  and  sinister,  as  it 
seemed  to  me.  I  am  no  coward,  but  the 
consciousness  that  I  was  on  no  honourable 


270  French  Abbeys 

errand  oppressed  me  horribly.  At  that  mo- 
ment what  the  Abbey  had  stood  for  in  the 
past  (that  Christianity  which  is  the  common 
heritage  of  Romanist  and  Huguenot)  ap- 
pealed to  me.  I  thought  of  the  order  of 
knighthood  instituted  here,  and  seemed  to 
see  the  chevaliers  kneeling  in  their  pillared 
hall.  I  saw,  too,  the  building  monks  making 
their  beloved  Abbey  strong,  and  carrying 
such  a  passion  into  their  incredible  labour 
that  the  intractable  granite  flowered  into 
beauty,  and  even  the  drudgery  of  quarrying 
and  hauling  the  heavy  masses  of  stone  be- 
came pure  joy. 

And  with  these  pictures  in  my  mind  I 
almost  forgot  that  the  old  days  of  sanctity 
and  devotion  were  past,  that  the  commend- 
atory Abbot  of  Mont  Saint  Michel  was  a  child 
of  the  house  of  Lorraine,  but  five  years  of 
age,  and  that  the  Sieur  de  Boissuze,  who  was 
deputed  military  governor  of  the  Abbey,  was 
a  cut-throat  scoundrel. 

Led  by  a  sure  guide  we  threaded  the  quick- 
sands, and  presented  ourselves  silently  be- 
neath the  wall  at  the  spot  appointed,  at  the 
foot  of  the  cliff  beneath  the  merveille.  Silent 
and  ominous  that  wall  of  masonry  lifted  itself 
above  our  heads,  with  but  one  light  twink- 


ENTRANCE  TO  THE  ABBEY  OF  MONT  SAINT  MICHEL. 


Mademoiselle  de  Folleville       271 

ling  from  a  window  in  the  salle  du  cellier,  in 
the  lowest  of  the  three  stories,  but  still  high 
in  air. 

It  was  Goupigny's  signal  that  all  was  well, 
and  that  he  was  in  waiting. 

There  was  a  little  platform  jutting  from  this 
window,  with  a  windlass,  by  which  the  monks 
were  in  the  habit  of  hoisting  their  provisions. 
Goupigny  and  a  confederate  were  at  the 
windlass,  and  would  pull  us  up  silently  until 
enough  had  gathered  in  the  cellier  to  assault 
the  corps  de  guard. 

Montgomery  liked  the  trick  by  which  we 
were  to  enter  as  little  as  I,  but  he  had  given 
his  consent,  and  was  there  to  stand  by  the 
event.  Other  faces  showed  blanched  in  the 
moonlight  beside  our  own.  I  remember  that 
as  the  rope  swung  down  by  which  Goupigny 
was  to  hoist  us,  a  great  fellow  marching  next 
to  me,  whose  bravery  had  never  been  im- 
peached, was  trembling  like  a  leaf.  He  strove 
to  wrench  a  ring  from  his  little  finger,  asking 
me  the  while  to  give  it  to  his  wife  if  he  never 
came  down;  but  his  finger  had  thickened 
about  it  since  his  wife  gave  it  to  him,  and  he 
needs  must  let  it  be. 

One  by  one  our  men  swung  upward,  dang- 
ling like  gallows'  prey  between  sky  and  land. 


272  French  Abbeys 

Not  a  sound  came  back  to  us  after  they 
stepped  within  the  window,  and  in  this  fear- 
some stillness  ninety  of  our  two  hundred 
mounted.  At  last  Montgomery  grew  uneasy, 
for  he  saw  lights  springing  forth  here  and 
there  in  other  parts  of  the  building,  and  they 
were  streaming  from  the  Almonry,  a  great 
hall  communicating  with  the  cellier;  but  we 
were  too  far  beneath  to  see  figures  flitting 
about  or  to  hear  the  clash  of  arms,  and  could 
not  surmise  what  devil's  work  was  going  on. 

So  when  Goupigny  shouted,  "Holloa! 
there,  Montgomery.  Come  up,  the  fight  is 
on!"  he  sprang  to  the  rope;  but  I  held  him 
back;  and  the  Sieur  de  Sourdeval,  sharing 
my  suspicions  that  treachery  might  be  afoot, 
cried,  "Throw  us  down  a  dead  monk,  Gou- 
pigny, to  prove  what  you  say." 

There  was  no  answer  for  what  seemed  to  us 
a  long  space,  and  then  with  arms  outstretched 
like  the  wings  of  a  great  bird  of  prey,  there 
fell  at  my  feet  the  corpse  of  a  monk.  Sourde- 
val, a  little  farther  away  than  I,  cried,  "It  is 
all  right,  Montgomery.     See,  the  monks  fly!" 

But  I  knelt  at  the  dead  man's  side ;  his  face, 
even  if  I  had  known  him,  was  unrecognisable, 
for  it  had  been  mangled  not  alone  by  the  fall, 
but  by  many  slashes  before  the  unfortunate 


Mademoiselle  de  Folleville       273 

had  been  cast  from  the  window.  "This  is  no 
work  of  my  honest  fellow -soldiers,"  I  thought 
as  I  marked  the  brutal  gashes,  and  I  disposed 
his  arm  so  that  the  sleeve  of  the  frock  covered 
the  mutilated  face.  As  I  did  so,  my  eye 
caught  an  object  which  startled  me  so  that 
the  blood  rushed  back  upon  my  heart, — a 
ring  upon  the  little  finger,  sunk  deep  into  the 
flesh. 

I  could  not  be  certain  that  this  was  my 
comrade  at  arms  whom  they  had  dressed  as  a 
monk  to  deceive  us ;  for  all  I  knew  to  the  con- 
trary, the  monks  might  also  wear  their  sweet- 
hearts' rings.  But  I  snatched  the  rope  from 
Montgomery's  hand,  saying,  "Let  me  go  up 
first.  I  will  find  out  what  they  are  doing  up 
there.     Follow  not  unless  I  call  you." 

As  I  reached  the  platform  Goupigny 
clutched  my  arm  with  a  grip  which  I  knew 
betokened  no  friendship;  but  his  look  of 
exultation  as  I  faced  the  flaring  cresset 
changed  to  one  of  disappointment.  "  It  is  not 
Montgomery,"  he  cried,  "but  only  his  truck- 
ling minion,  Raoul  de  Rablotiere." 

Then  a  dozen  men  threw  me  to  the  earth, 

overpowered  and  disarmed  me,  and  dragged 

me  into  the  next  hall,  and  I  knew  that  I  was 

in  the  jaws  of  death. 
18 


274  French  Abbeys 

But  what  froze  my  blood  at  this  supreme 
moment  was  not  fear  for  my  personal  safety, 
but  a  great  horror  of  what  I  saw,  for  I  stood 
in  a  human  slaughter-house.  The  pavement 
was  slippery  beneath  my  feet  with  the  blood 
of  my  ninety  murdered  comrades,  whose 
corpses  were  stacked  like  faggots  on  every 
side. 

A  brawny  executioner,  stripped  to  his 
waist,  and  red  to  his  elbows,  lifted  a  dripping 
sabre,  and  Goupigny  pushed  me  toward  a 
block  hacked  by  many  cuts.  ''On  your 
knees,"  he  sneered,  "and  I  only  wish  Ma- 
demoiselle de  Folleville  could  see  us  now." 

At  that  word  a  dark-eyed,  dark-faced  man 
in  the  garb  of  a  novice  darted  across  the  room, 
struck  Goupigny  in  the  face,  and  returning 
spoke  passionately  to  the  Governor  of  the 
garrison.  It  was  the  Spaniard,  my  escaped 
prisoner,  and  I  could  see  that  he  was  begging 
for  my  life. 

I  had  scarcely  time  for  recognition,  none  to 
wonder  at  his  act,  or  at  his  monastic  dress,  for 
Boissuze,  the  monster  who  had  instituted  all 
this  villainy,  roared  to  Goupigny  to  hold  his 
tongue,  and  to  the  headsman  to  put  by  his 
sword. 

"Young  man,"  he  said  to  me,  "if  you  do 


Mademoiselle  de  Folleville       275 

not  care  to  join  your  comrades,  listen  to  what 
I  say.  We  are  impatient  to  welcome  Mont- 
gomery. He  should  not  lag  thus  behind  his 
men.  Go  to  that  window,  and  shout  to  him 
that  all  is  well,  and  you  have  my  pledge  that 
you,  and  you  alone  of  all  his  command,  shall 
leave  Mont  Saint  Michel  in  safety."  I  made 
no  reply,  not  that  I  had  any  intention  of 
consenting  to  such  infamy,  but  I  am  slow 
at  speech,  and  the  revolt  in  my  soul  was  too 
great  for  words.     He  mistook  my  silence. 

The  Spaniard  approached  me.  "I  beseech 
you  to  save  your  life,  Signor,  for  her  sake,"  he 
said  in  a  low  voice.  A  great  astonishment 
filled  me.  "  I  will  explain  afterward,"  he  said, 
1 '  only  go,  go  at  once,  and  do  as  the  commander 
bids  you.  Your  refusal  will  avail  your  friends 
nothing." 

They  pushed  me  to  the  window,  and  the 
cool  night  air  revived  me  somewhat  (for  what 
I  had  seen  had  sickened  me) .  A  great  longing 
for  life  surged  up  within  me.  Somehow  the 
words  of  the  Spaniard  had  convinced  me  that 
I  had  misjudged  Coralie,  and  that  she  was 
true  to  me  in  spite  of  all.  Even  so  I  would 
not  win  her  by  foul  means,  and  putting 
that  temptation  behind  me,  I  craned  forth 
from  the  window  like  a  gargoyle,  my  hands 


276  French  Abbeys 

clutching  the  sill,  while  some  of  those  within 
held  me  by  my  heels.  I  could  see  my 
friends,  and  Montgomery  saw  me.  "Is  all 
well,  Rablotiere  ? ' '  he  cried.  ' '  Nay,  nay ! "  I 
shouted.  "Treason!  A  trap!  A  trap!  Flee 
for  your  life!" 

With  that  they  pulled  me  in  so  violently 
that  my  head  struck  the  floor,  and  I  swooned 
with  the  pain,  believing  all  at  an  end  for  me 
in  this  world. 

But  when  I  came  to  my  senses  I  found  my- 
self alone,  save  for  the  Spaniard,  who  was 
bathing  my  face,  and  for  Boissuze,  who 
towered  over  us. 

'"Twas  the  prettiest  thing  I  have  seen  in 
all  my  life,"  said  he.  "Will  you  bide  as  my 
lieutenant,  lad?  No?  I  thought  not.  Well, 
go  to  your  dear  Montgomery.  I  would  I  had 
any  one  in  my  command  who  loved  me  so 
well." 

With  that  he  clanked  off,  and  the  Spaniard 
led  me,  by  many  staircases  and  winding 
passages,  to  the  shore,  whence  we  were  guided 
by  a  monk  who  knew  the  way  between  the 
dangerous  quicksands  to  the  mainland,  which 
Montgomery,  believing  me  past  mortal  aid, 
had  already  regained  with  the  remnant  of  his 
command. 


Mademoiselle  de  Folleville       277 

I  have  remarked  on  the  ominous  silence  of 
the  Abbey  as  it  lay  in  wait  for  us.  Now,  on 
the  contrary,  as  we  retreated,  its  great  bells 
boomed  out  its  triumph  and  defiance.  I  have 
heard  nothing  in  all  my  life  more  awful  than 
the  clangour  of  those  bells,  tolling  with  such 
fiendish  glee  the  death  of  vso  many  brave  men. 

There  came  to  me,  however,  a  light  even 
in  that  gloom,  for  on  the  way  I  besought  the 
Spaniard  to  tell  me  what  he  meant  when  he 
urged  me  to  save  my  life  for  Mademoiselle's 
sake. 

"Because  she  loves  you,"  he  replied,  "and 
methinks  you  should  know  it  already." 

"But  I  heard  her  admit  to  Montgomery 
that  she  loved  you,"  I  answered. 

"Think  over  what  she  said,"  the  Spaniard 
returned.  "I  was  standing  on  the  spiral 
staircase  with  the  door  ajar,  and  I,  too,  heard 
her,  but  I  attached  no  such  meaning  to  her 
words." 

"They  were  plain  enough,"  I  replied,  "and 
they  are  graven  indelibly  upon  my  memory: 
'You  have  spoken  truly,'  she  said  to  Mont- 
gomery, 'the  man  whom  I  love  is  beneath 
this  roof ' ;  and  you  have  just  admitted  that 
you  were  there." 

"But  was   I   then  her   only  guest?"   the 


278  French  Abbeys 

Spaniard  asked  with  a  smile.  "You  were 
beneath  her  roof  at  the  same  time.  Had  she 
given  you  no  reason  to  believe  that  she  loved 
you?  Ought  you  not  to  have  understood 
her?  After  you  went  away  it  was  long  before 
we  could  bring  her  from  that  swoon,  and  her 
first  words  to  me  on  awaking  were  to  bid  me 
leave  her  chateau,  for  she  had  saved  my  life 
at  the  expense  of  her  own  happiness. 

"Fortunately,  one  of  the  Malouin  fishing 
boats  touched  at  Lion-sur-Mer  that  night  and 
brought  me  to  this  Abbey.  When  I  learned 
of  the  fate  of  the  Armada,  I  gladly  took  upon 
myself  the  vows  of  a  monk.  I  am  horrified 
by  what  has  been  done  here.  It  is  that 
ruffian  Boissuze  who  is  responsible,  and  not 
the  main  body  of  the  monks,  who  knew 
nothing  of  what  was  passing.  Lay  not  that 
crime  to  the  brotherhood. 

"Tell  Mademoiselle  that  I  congratulate  her, 
as  I  could  not  have  done  had  you  taken  my 
advice  and  saved  your  life  at  the  expense  of 
your  honour, — and  so  farewell." 

It  was  years  before  I  could  blot  the  memory 
of  what  I  had  seen  at  Mont  Saint  Michel  from 
my  mental  vision.  Waking  or  dreaming,  that 
ghastly  human  shambles  was  before  my  eyes, 
insomuch  that  when  the  wars  were  over  and 


Mademoiselle  de  Folleville       279 

the  Comte  de  Montgomery  being  offered  the 
command  of  the  garrison,  and  in  spite  of  his 
former  ambition  desiring  to  depute  this  post 
to  me,  I,  still  less  than  he,  could  endure  to 
abide  there,  or  even  to  hear  the  tolling  of  its 
bells  across  the  sands,  but  gave  the  Mount  a 
wide  berth  in  all  my  journeys. 

It  was  a  misfortunate  asylum  for  Gou- 
pigny,  for  I  heard  that  a  dismantled  hulk 
(conceived  to  be  that  of  one  of  the  Spanish 
galleons)  drifting  into  the  bay  shortly  after 
our  visit,  he  went  out  to  it  secretly  at  low  tide, 
seeking  treasure,  and  was  sucked  under  by 
the  quicksands. 

And  what  more  is  there  to  say  ? 

Surely,  unless  my  reader  is  as  dull  of  wit 
as  he  who  writes  these  memoirs,  needs  not 
that  I  make  more  plain  what  even  I  under- 
stood at  last,  that  my  dear  lady,  knowing 
well  my  loyalty  to  my  friend,  and  that  for  his 
sake  I  would  never  have  wooed  her  in  her 
proper  person,  had  deceived  me  for  my  own 
unutterable  gain.  My  eyes  being  now  opened, 
I  made  immediate  opportunity  to  betake  my- 
self to  Lion-sur-Mer,  and  there  was  I  received 
as  one  from  the  dead,  for  rumour  had  it  that 
I  had  perished  in  that  horrible  massacre. 

And  now  that  Henri  of  Navarre  is  crowned, 


280  French  Abbeys 

and  toleration  the  fashion,  there  is  respect  on 
both  sides  for  the  other's  religion,  which  in 
all  true  men  and  women  I  have  found  differs 
but  in  the  outward  expression,  and  is  the  same 
at  heart. 

So,  though  the  Lady  of  Lion-sur-Mer  still 
goes  to  the  Mass  and  I  to  the  preaching,  there 
is  no  happier  husband  in  all  France  than 
I,  nor  more  contented  wife,  as  I  oft  hear 
Madame  de  Rablotiere  declare,  than  she  who 
was  once  Mademoiselle  de  Folleville. 


CHAPTER  XIII 


A  FUGITIVE  ABBOT 


IN  all  Normandy  there  is  no  Abbey  so  en- 
chanting in  its  ruin  as  Saint  Wandrille. 
Nature  has  dealt  tenderly  with  it:  where  an 
arch  has  been  broken,  the  ivy  flings  its  fes- 
toons ;  where  a  stone  is  missing,  a  wild  flower 
stops  the  chink.  It  hides  itself  coquettishly 
a  little  apart  from  the  ordinary  track  of 
tourists,  but  is  a  favourite  haunt  of  artists, 
and  easy  of  access  from  Caudebec  or 
Yvetot. 

Though  a  small  Abbey,  it  is  one  which  has 
grown  in  beauty  through  the  centuries. 
Exquisite  bits  of  early  Gothic  and  sturdy 
earlier  Norman  are  to  be  found  here  side  by 
side;  but  most  conspicuous  of  all  is  the  style 
which  the  Pompadour  made  the  vogue  in  the 
eighteenth  century. 

Graceful  but  ostentatious,  it  tells  us  that 
281 


282  French  Abbeys 

men  of  noble  family  who  spent  the  major  part 
of  their  lives  at  Court  loved  to  make  the 
Abbey  a  luxurious  retreat  for  lazy  day-dreams 
in  the  intervals  of  a  too  fatiguing  social  life. 
And  such  were  its  Commendatory  Abbots,  vo- 
luptuaries whose  dilletante  taste  might  well 
have  planned  this  little  palace,  but  who  would 
hardly  have  lavished  their  wealth  upon  so 
hidden  a  paradise.  Who,  then,  was  the  man 
whose  munificent  generosity  executed  these 
later  buildings  ? 

The  guardian  who  showed  them  had  her 
tradition  of  a  nameless  benefactor,  who,  for 
the  sake  of  the  woman  he  loved,  gave  up  all 
this  otium  cum  dignitate  on  the  very  day  upon 
which  he  was  appointed  Abbot. 

The  proof  that  the  legend  was  true  lay  to 
her  simple  mind  in  the  fact  that  it  was  all 
written  out  in  a  time-yellowed  manuscript, 
said  to  have  been  discovered  in  Canada, 
which  some  visitor  had  left  at  Saint  Wandrille. 

It  was  a  strange  story  that  we  read  under 
the  broken  arches,  but  its  strangest  part  is 
confirmed  and  vouched  for  in  the  Relations 
of  the  Jesuits,  and  some  warfare  like  this 
must  have  been  fought  out  in  those  tor- 
tured hearts  ere  they  found  their  way  to 
peace. 


I  i  I II  II  f 


m 

1 

I 

-v 

1  1  1 

i  i  un 

A  Fugitive  Abbot  283 

THE  MANUSCRIPT 

I  cannot  remember  the  time  when  I  did  not 
love  Madeleine  de  Chauvigny. 

Our  fathers'  estates  joined,  and  were  sepa- 
rated only  by  a  brawling  stream,  which  was 
our  favourite  resort.  I  know  'now  that  we 
saw  so  much  of  one  another  because  the 
garde-chasse  to  whom  I  was  entrusted  was  in 
love  with  the  little  girl's  nurse,  and  the  brook 
was  their  try  sting-place.  It  was  for  this  reason 
that  my  Isidore  showed  me  how  to  set  otter- 
traps  on  its  banks,  and  built  the  rustic  bridge 
which  was  crossed  so  often  by  our  childish 
feet,  and  that  Madeleine's  Opportune  was  al- 
ways seeking  for  berries  or  herbs  on  our  side  of 
the  stream,  while  their  charges  speared  frogs 
and  built  dams  or  climbed  the  trees  for  birds' 
nests. 

Later  we  rode  to  hounds  in  company,  for 
Madeleine  was  something  of  a  tomboy  and  a 
good  comrade.  We  quarrelled  at  times,  as 
over  the  question  as  to  which  of  us  it  was  who 
killed  the  boar.  And  this  incident  I  may  as 
well  relate,  as  it  is  a  typical  one.  I  was 
fourteen  then,  she  twelve.  It  was  the  sum- 
mer before  we  were  both  sent  away  to  school 
— and  the  beginning  of  our  troubles. 

We  were  hunting  with  Isidore,  the  hounds 


284  French  Abbeys 

in  full  cry,  following,  as  we  supposed,  a  deer; 
but  the  ground  was  hard,  the  track  faint,  and 
when  we  came  up  with  the  dogs  we  found  a 
boar  at  bay. 

I  flung  my  reins  to  Madeleine,  sprang  to  my 
feet,  and  took  aim  at  short  range;  but  she, 
carried  away  by  the  excitement  of  the  mo- 
ment, lifted  her  gun  to  shoulder  and  fired 
without  dismounting.  It  was  a  reckless  thing 
to  do,  for  I  might  have  been  killed.  I  heard 
her  bullet  sing  past  my  ear  and  bury  itself  in 
the  trunk  of  a  tree  at  the  very  instant  that 
my  own  pierced  the  brain  of  the  boar. 

Isidore  arrived  a  moment  later  and  gave 
the  creature  its  coup  de  grace  with  his  hunting- 
knife,  but  it  had  already  received  a.  death- 
wound. 

' '  I  killed  it,"  Madeleine  boasted.  ' '  I  saved 
Rene's  life." 

"Indeed,  you  very  nearly  took  my  life,"  I 
retorted  angrily;  "and  I  will  thank  you  not 
to  do  so  again." 

We  wrangled  all  the  way  home,  Madeleine 
insisting  that  it  was  my  shot  which  had  gone 
wild,  and  finally  bursting  into  tears,  and  de- 
claring that  even  if  it  were  not  so,  if  I  cared 
for  her  at  all  I  would  have  given  her  the  credit 
of  the  exploit . 


A  Fugitive  Abbot  285 

That  put  a  new  face  upon  the  matter,  and 
I  yielded  at  once,  letting  her  tell  the  story 
in  her  own  way,  and  allowing  myself  to  be 
ridiculed  for  my  poor  marksmanship ;  the  ex- 
asperating effect  of  this  magnanimity  being 
that  she  grew  to  believe  her  own  version,  and 
I  got  no  credit,  even  in  her  own  eyes,  for  my 
generosity. 

It  was  our  last  quarrel  for  many  a  long  day, 
for  that  summer  my  mother  died,  and  my 
home-life  ended.  The  monks  of  Saint  Wan- 
drille  at  this  time  conducted  a  pensionnat  for 
ten  boys  destined  to  be  choristers,  and  my 
father  taking  counsel  of  his  friend,  Frangois 
de  Harlay,  Archbishop  of  Rouen,  I  was  sent 
to  their  school. 

Music  was  my  passion.  There  was  a  good 
organ  in  the  chapel,  and  the  choirmasters  of 
the  Abbey  had  been  musicians  from  the  time 
of  Gervold.  I  spent  three  years  at  Saint 
Wandrille  in  uneventful  but  congenial  study, 
when  I  was  summoned  to  the  chateau  by  the 
death  of  my  father.  My  future  was  now  to  be 
decided  upon  with  my  guardian,  but  before  it 
came  to  that  I  felt  that  I  must  see  Madeleine 
de  Chauvigny;  and  she  was  at  home  now, 
having  returned  from  the  Ursuline  convent 
where  she  had  received  her  education. 


286  French  Abbeys 

I  met  her  leaning  on  the  rail  of  the  rustic 
bridge  as  I  took  the  path  through  the  park  to 
her  father's  chateau,  and  I  was  at  her  side  at 
once,  striving  to  pour  forth  my  declaration. 

Striving,  I  say,  for  I  had  but  blundered  into 
it  when  she  stopped  me.  "I  never  was  like 
other  girls,  Rene,"  she  said  kindly;  "I  am 
less  so  now.  I  would  not  make  a  good 
wife/' 

II  No  matter,"  I  cried,  "but  you  are  a  capital 
good  fellow,  Madeleine.  Only  say  you  do  not 
detest  me,  and  we  will  be  two  boon  com- 
panions, as  in  the  old  days." 

"Nay,  but  listen,  Ren6.  The  reason  lies 
deeper  than  you  think.  It  is  not  you  but 
marriage  itself  that  I  detest;  and  if  you  care 
for  me  as  much  as  you  say,  you  can  help  me 
now.  You  asked  me  a  moment  ago  to  inter- 
cede with  my  father  for  you.  You  need  no 
intercession.  He  told  me  this  morning  that 
he  would  offer  my  hand  to  you  through  your 
guardian  before  you  leave  the  chateau.  Only 
tell  him  that  you  refuse  the  honour,  and  I 
shall  believe  that  there  is  such  a  thing  as 
disinterested  friendship." 

1 '  Refuse  you,  Madeleine ! "  I  cried ; ' '  never ! ' ' 

"Very  well,  then,  I  shall  have  to  defy  you 

both,  and  if  you  knew  how  difficult  my  father 


A  Fugitive  Abbot  287 

is,  Rene,  I  think  you  would  be  willing  to  make 
things  easier  for  me." 

"But  what  will  you  do  with  your  life?"  I 
asked. 

"When  I  can  bend  circumstances  to  my 
will,  I  shall  go  back  to  the  Ursulines,  and  be- 
come a  nun." 

"You  a  nun,  Madeleine!  You  could  not 
endure  that  slavery." 

"I  have  lived  with  them  three  years.  I 
should  know  by  this  time  what  it  is.  Be  as- 
sured that  I  would  not  take  this  step  unless  I 
saw  in  it  the  way  to  a  career.  I  cannot  tell 
you  all,  Ren6,  but  I  have  not  surrendered  my 
ambition.     I  have  my  idea!" 

I  did  not  wholly  understand  her  schemes. 
I  thought  she  was  dreaming  of  becoming 
Abbess  of  the  convent.  What  I  did  under- 
stand was  that  I  was  as  nothing  in  her  plans. 
Nothing,  unless  I  could  help  to  their  realisa- 
tion, and  for  that  she  would  walk  unscrupu- 
lously on  my  heart. 

"Have  your  own  way,"  I  replied  bitterly, 
when  this  had  dawned  upon  me,  "for  if  these 
are  your  true  feelings,  nothing  would  induce 
me  to  marry  you." 

It  was  in  this  surly  mood  that  I  debated 
my  vocation  with  my  guardian. 


288  French  Abbeys 

"Had  your  father  been  spared,"  he  said, 
"he  would  have  secured  for  you  an  appoint- 
ment in  the  army.  Alas !  I  have  no  influence 
in  that  direction;  but  Monsieur  de  Chauvigny 
offers  with  his  daughter  wealth  which  will 
unlock  any  career.  Your  refusal  of  his  propo- 
sition is  unalterable?" 

"Absolutely  so." 

"Then  I  must  say,  my  dear  Rene,  that  I  do 
not  see  what  you  propose  to  do." 

"I  have  some  means,  I  suppose?" 

"Ample,  ample,  for  the  aimless  life  of  a 
country  gentleman ;  but  is  that  your  choice  ? " 

"Not  at  all.  I  shall  go  back  to  Saint  Wan- 
drille.  Thank  heaven,  I  have  learned  to  love 
it.     I  will  become  a  monk." 

"God  forbid!"  exclaimed  the  Archbishop; 
and  this  ejaculation  coming  from  such  a 
source  greatly  surprised  me. 

"My  dear  boy,"  he  explained,  "you  shall 
not  with  my  consent  take  upon  yourself 
sacred  vows  from  mere  pique.  Go  back  to 
Saint  Wandrille,  if  you  choose;  interest  your- 
self in  its  restoration,  as  its  patron,  if  it 
pleases  you  so  to  do,  but  remain  free  until 
your  majority,  that  you  may  not  in  after 
years  reproach  yourself  and  me  for  the  deci- 
sion of  this  hour." 


A  Fugitive  Abbot  289 

So  I  returned  to  my  dear  Abbey  at  a  most 
interesting  period  in  its  history.  Beautiful  it 
had  always  been  from  the  time  that  Wan- 
drille,  friend  and  courtier  of  Dagobert,  first 
founded  it.  But  it  had  suffered  cruelly  in  the 
Huguenot  wars,  when  Gabriel  de  Montgomery 
mutilated  its  noble  buildings.  The  pathos  of 
its  broken  arches  was  most  appealing.  The 
monks  laboured  with  trowel  and  chisel,  hod 
and  barrow  to  repair  the  ravages.  I  thought  of 
my  old  love  no  longer  with  rancour,  but  with 
gentle  melancholy,  and  in  my  twenty -first  year 
I  assured  the  good  Archbishop  that  I  had  def- 
initely made  up  my  mind  to  devote  myself  to 
the  religious  life  and  my  fortune  to  the  Abbey. 

He  consented  on  condition  that  I  would  go 

with  him  to  Versailles  and  lead  for  a  season 

the  life  of  a  man  of  the  world,  that  I  might 

know  what  I  was  relinquishing.     Frangois  de 

Harlay  has  been  called  a  worldly  prelate,  but 

he  used  the  world  as  an  instrument  for  the 

Church.     He    knew    that    preferment    came 

through  the  influence  of  women,  and  he  had 

even  then  the  design  of  asking  for  me  from  the 

King  the  promise  of  appointment  as  Abb6 

Commendataire  of  Saint  Wandrille,  when  the 

then  aged  incumbent  should  be  gathered  to 

his  fathers. 
19 


290  French  Abbeys 

I  was  accordingly  introduced  to  the  most 
prominent  Court  Ladies,  my  talent  for  music 
being  the  opening  wedge.  I  led  the  choristers 
at  the  royal  chapel,  played  in  several  of  the 
great  churches  of  Paris,  and,  finally,  highest 
honour  and  privilege !  was  invited  by  a  reign- 
ing beauty  to  accompany  at  her  salon  an  opera 
singer  then  the  rage.  The  lady's  name  was 
Madame  de  la  Peltrie.  I  had  heard  her  spoken 
of  as  one  of  the  most  popular  of  the  women 
of  the  Court,  but  I  knew  not  to  what  I  owed 
my  invitation  until  I  recognised  in  my  hostess 
none  other  than  Madeleine  de  Chauvigny. 

To  find  her  leading  a  mundane,  frivolous 
life,  and  married  to  a  man  in  every  way  my 
inferior,  when  I  had  fancied  her  a  professed 
nun,  and  was  about  myself  to  take  vows  be- 
cause of  her  influence  and  example, was  indeed 
a  violent  shock.  I  was  rude  to  her,  I  know, 
disregarding  her  extended  hand,  and  passing 
at  once  to  the  harpsichord,  where  I  punished 
the  unoffending  instrument  for  my  displeas- 
ure. I  played  vilely  and  offended  the  vocalist 
by  my  inattention  and  discourtesy,  and  I  could 
think  of  no  taunt  cruel  enough  to  launch 
against  the  woman  I  had  loved. 

"So  this  is  the  way  in  which  you  forsake 
the  world  and  mortify  the  flesh,"  I  said  to  her 


ll 

M 

<      3 

O    o 
Q=    d 


A  Fugitive  Abbot  291 

in  a  low  voice  when  she  approached  me  with 
eager  appeal  crying  to  me  from  every  feature 
of  her  expressive  face. 

She  winced,  for  the  blow  had  struck  home, 
but  there  were  wondering  eyes  fixed  upon  us, 
and  she  replied,  quite  as  though  I  had  asked 
a  question  in  regard  to  the  songs  which  I  was 
turning  over: 

''Yes,  it  is  exceptional,  this  old  chanson 
which  I  have  chosen  as  my  part  in  our  little 
performance;  but  it  should  present  no  diffi- 
culties for  you,  Monsieur.  I  was  sure  you 
would  understand  it." 

And  then  she  sang,  in  a  thin  voice,  with  no 
power  or  range,  but  with  infinite  pathos, 
" L' habit  le  moine  ne  fait  pas." 

To  my  ear  it  was  a  confession  that  her  life 
was  one  long  penance.  If  she  suffered,  I  told 
myself,  she  deserved  to  do  so ;  but  I  thought 
it  mere  pose  and  dissembling  like  the  affecta- 
tion of  enthusiasm  of  the  other  ladies  for  the 
Canadian  missions.  Their  patroness,  the 
Duchesse  d'Aiguillon,  was  present,  and  all 
the  talk  was  of  the  Society  of  Jesus,  then  so 
much  the  vogue. 

"Zeal  for  martyrdom,  indeed!"  I  said  to 
my  guardian  afterward;  "they  are  a  set  of 
hypocrites,  who  make  fanatics  of  silly  women. 


292  French  Abbeys 

How  many  of  them  would  endure  the  least 
pain  for  the  sake  of  the  souls  of  the  Indians 
for  which  they  pretend  such  concern?" 

''Softly,  softly !"  said  the  Archbishop;  "the 
Jesuits  practise  what  they  preach,  and  are 
many  of  them  heroes." 

"The  more  fools  they,"  I  insisted.  "Does 
God  call  us  to  martyrdom  now  ?  •  Can  we  not 
serve  Him  while  enjoying  with  thankfulness 
the  comforts  which  He  gives  us  ? " 

As,  for  instance,  the  Abbacy  of  Saint  Wan- 
drille?"  the  Archbishop  asked  quizzically. 
"I  had  hoped  so,  my  dear  Rene;  but  I  am 
sorry  to  tell  you  that  I  have  not  succeeded  in 
gaining  an  audience  with  the  King  on  that 
head.  I  fear  that  there  is  another  candi- 
date with  more  powerful  influence  in  the 
field." 

Not  long  after  this  experience  we  bade  adieu 
to  Versailles,  my  guardian  returning  to  Rouen, 
and  I  to  my  chateau,  as  my  estate  demanded 
my  attention.  I  was  reminded  here  at  every 
turn  of  Madeleine.  Now  it  was  Isidore,  the 
garde-chasse,  who  referred  to  the  time  when 
she  saved  my  life  by  shooting  the  boar. 

Her  point  of  view  had  become  the  accepted 
tradition,  though  at  the  time  Isidore  had 
had  his  doubts.     He  had  married  Opportune, 


A  Fugitive  Abbot  293 

Madeleine's  nurse,  who  annoyed  me  still  more 
by  her  reminiscences. 

I  had  been  at  the  chateau  but  a  few  months 
when  a  most  unexpected  crisis  occurred,  and 
Opportune  rushed  into  the  library,  where  I 
was  trying  to  read,  exclaiming:  "My  poor 
lamb !  My  poor  lamb !  He  is  dead !  he  is  dead ! ' ' 

"Monsieur  de  Chauvigny?"  I  cried,  feeling 
instinctively  that  this  touched  Madeleine. 

"No,  would  to  heaven  that  it  were  her 
father.  It  is  Monsieur  de  la  Peltrie  who  has 
just  died.  My  poor  lamb !  I  must  go  to  her, 
Monsieur." 

"Stop!"  I  commanded.  "Tell  me  the 
truth,  Opportune.  Is  not  this  event  a  re- 
lease for  Madame?  I  have  heard  that  there 
was  no  love  between  them." 

"A  release  to  the  cloister,  Monsieur.  She 
was  crazy  to  be  a  nun,  but  her  father  would 
not  permit  it.  Now  she  will  be  still  more 
possessed  to  leave  the  world,  and  he  will  not 
be  able  to  prevent  her.  Ah!  what  a  loss! 
What  a  shame!  And  she  so  young,  so 
beautiful !  Oh !  Monsieur,  you  loved  her  once. 
Save  her  now." 

"Woman,"  I  cried,  "is  this  the  time  to 
think  of  such  things?  Go  to  her,  and  hold 
your  tongue." 


294  French  Abbeys 

She  kissed  my  hand.  "  Bless  you,  Mon- 
sieur, for  that  word.  It  is  not  the  time  now. 
And  I  will  hold  my  tongue,  for  you  will  save 
her." 

All  that  night  I  paced  my  room  in  a  de- 
lirium of  hope;  for  my  love  for  Madeleine, 
which  had  never  died,  flamed  up  in  my  heart 
with  new  intensity.  "Surely,"  I  told  my- 
self, "the  hand  of  Providence  is  here.  It 
must  be  for  this  that  I  am  not  yet  a  monk, 
that  my  guardian  failed  in  securing  the 
benefice  which  he  desired  for  me,  that  I  saw 
Madeleine  at  Versailles,  and  that  she  let  me 
see  her  regret.  But  does  she  regret?"  I 
asked.  *  *  Is  it  possible  that  she  loves  me  ?  If 
so,  surely  she  will  make  some  sign." 

Scarcely  had  I  reached  this  conclusion 
after  some  weeks  of  alternate  hope  and  de- 
spair, when  she  sent  to  me  bidding  me  ask  her 
of  her  father  as  my  wife.  Wonderful  as  this 
statement  must  seem,  it  is  not  so  strange,  so 
impossible,  as  the  truth  which  lay  behind  it, 
for  it  was  no  ordinary  marriage  to  which  I 
was  bidden. 

The  messenger  was  a  Jesuit,  called  Pere 
Ignace,  whom  I  liked  not  at  first  sight,  and 
whom  later  I  was  bitterly  to  hate.  First 
pledging   me   to   secrecy,   he   told   me   that 


A  Fugitive  Abbot  295 

Madeleine  appealed  to  me  as  the  only  friend 
whom  she  could  rely  upon  in  a  supreme  mo- 
ment. She  had  decided  to  go  to  Canada  as 
missionary  to  the  little  Indian  girls;  but  her 
father,  who  had  previously  thwarted  her 
vocation,  was  so  unalterably  opposed  to  this 
desire,  that  he  had  threatened  to  disinherit 
her,  insisting  that  she  should  immediately 
remarry  as  guarantee  that  she  would  not  adopt 
a  religious  life  after  his  death. 

Madame  de  la  Peltrie  desired  to  secure  his 
fortune  for  her  enterprise,  and  begged  to  be 
allowed  time;  but  Monsieur  de  Chauvigny, 
knowing  himself  to  be  the  victim  of  an  in- 
curable disease,  demanded  an  instant  carry- 
ing out  of  his  commands. 

In  this  emergency  the  Jesuit  felt  that  a 
pious  subterfuge  was  allowable,  and  suggested 
a  sham  marriage  to  quiet  the  father's  fears. 
The  only  embarrassment  so  far  was  to  find 
a  disinterested  gentlenian  who  would  oblige 
them  by  going  through  with  a  mock  ceremony, 
and  so  conduct  himself  afterward  that  Mon- 
sieur de  Chauvigny  would  have  no  suspicions. 

It  was  Madeleine's  father  who  had  unwit- 
tingly suggested  me.  He  had  marked  my 
continued  presence  in  the  neighbourhood, 
and  had  recalled  my  former  refusal  of  his 


296  French  Abbeys 

daughter's  hand.  "I  believe  on  my  soul  that 
you  were  at  the  bottom  of  that,"  he  had 
said  to  Madeleine,  ''and  that  the  lad  loves 
you  still.  I  would  die  content  if  I  could 
see  you  his  wife." 

''Madame  de  la  Peltrie  has  confided  to  me," 
the  Jesuit  added,  "how  entirely  Monsieur  de 
Chauvigny  is  mistaken  in  the  nature  of  your 
regard  for  her;  and  this,  with  information 
which  I  have  obtained  from  the  Prior  of  Saint 
Wandrille  that  it  is  your  intention  to  enter  the 
cloister  convinces  me  that  you  are  the  man 
destined  for  this  peculiar  service." 

I  broke  out  here  with  an  indignant  refusal 
to  have  anything  to  do  with  such  crooked 
proceedings.  The  wily  Jesuit  allowed  me  to 
exhaust  myself,  and  then  returned  to  the 
charge  with  smiling  persistence. 

"If  I  understand  the  drift  of  Monsieur's 
objections  to  the  course  of  conduct  which  I 
suggest,"  he  replied  suavely,  "they  are  en- 
tirely based  on  a  misconception  which  does 
honour  to  the  sensitiveness  of  his  conscience. 
When  unusual  situations  face  us,  is  it  not  our 
duty  to  refer  the  decision  to  our  spiritual 
guides?" 

I  calmed  at  that,  and  replied  that  I  was 
willing  to  submit  the  question  to  his  Grace 


A  Fugitive  Abbot  297 

Francois  de  Harlay,  Archbishop  of  Rouen, 
and  the  Jesuit  accepted  him  as  arbiter. 

What  was  my  surprise  a  fortnight  later 
when  my  guardian,  instead  of  writing  me  that 
he  had  given  the  Jesuit  his  quietus,  himself 
knocked  at  my  door,  having  come  for  the 
especial  purpose  of  forwarding  the  scheme. 
I  did  not  know  until  afterward  that  the  argu- 
ment which  had  convinced  my  kind  friend 
was  the  promise  that  if  I  served  the  Jesuits  in 
this  matter  their  influence  would  secure  for 
me  the  Abbacy  of  Saint  Wandrille. 

I  do  not  now  remember  the  arguments 
with  which  the  Archbishop  convinced  me,  or 
whether  I  was  convinced  at  all,  that  what  I 
was  to  do  was  honourable.  I  only  remember 
that  he  gave  me  a  little  book,  The  Imitation 
of  Christ,  with  this  passage  marked  to  medi- 
tate upon: 

"In  commanding  it  is  possible  to  err,  in 
obeying  never.' '  And  this  dictum,  though  it 
seemed  to  me  a  paradox,  I  could  not  set 
myself  up  to  gainsay,  so  obeyed  it. 

And  here  I  must  confess  that  I  might  not 
have  been  so  yielding  but  for  Madeleine  her- 
self. While  I  was  still  recalcitrant,  she 
granted  me  an  interview  by  appointment  at 
our  old  playground.     The  rustic  bridge  had 


298  French  Abbeys 

fallen  in  ruin.  "It  is  a  bad  omen,"  she  said 
as  we  faced  each  other  on  opposite  banks. 
"You  cannot  cross  to  me  nor  I  to  you." 

"Nay,"  I  replied,  "there  is  no  barrier  which 
can  keep  me  from  you  if  you  will  that  I  cross 
it,"  and  retiring  a  little  and  taking  a  running 
leap  I  fell  at  her  feet,  and  clasping  her  about 
the  knees  covered  her  hands  with  kisses. 

"Can  you  not  see,  do  you  not  understand," 
I  cried,  "that  the  reason  I  cannot  meet  your 
wishes  in  this  matter  is  that  I  love  you  too 
much  to  endure  it.  I  could  not  bear  to  be 
near  you,  and  to  feign  blessedness  which  I 
can  never  hope  for." 

She  smiled  mysteriously.  "And  who  pre- 
vents your  hoping?"  she  asked. 

I  caught  her  in  my  arms  again.  "Do  you 
mean  it?  No;  you  are  coquetting  with  me. 
It  was  the  Jesuits'  bidding,  that  all  means 
are  justifiable  to  gain  your  end." 

"Listen,  Rene,  for  I  am  telling  you  the 
truth.  How  can  we  know  the  result  of  any 
step?  We  can  only  do  what  our  spiritual 
guides  tell  us  is  our  duty.  If  the  end  is  dif- 
ferent from  what  they  and  we  proposed, 
surely  it  is  God  who  makes  it  so,  and  it  must 
be  right." 

"Then  if  I  make  you  love  me,  you  will  re- 


A  Fugitive  Abbot  299 

pudiate  this  detestable  subterfuge,"  I  asked, 
"and  be  in  very  truth  my  wife?" 

"Surely,"  she  promised,  "if  I  love  you 
enough;  for  in  that  case  I  shall  not  be  able 
— I  shall  not  wish — to  do  otherwise." 

That  one  blessed  chance  in  ten  thousand 
was  enough,  and  after  that  I  was  as  clay  in 
their  hands. 

So  the  settlements  were  signed  and  the 
sham  marriage  took  place,  Monsieur  de 
Chauvigny  making  a  new  will  and  leaving  his 
daughter  all  his  fortune.  The  registrar  of 
the  contract  was  himself  deceived,  for  when 
we  both  as  principals  and  our  witnesses 
signed  our  names — apparently  in  the  book  of 
records, — it  was  upon  a  sheet  of  paper 
cleverly  interleaved  by  Pere  Ignace,  which 
being  removed  left  no  trace  either  of  the 
transaction  or  of  any  mutilation  of  the  pages. 
Also  above  our  signatures  he  afterwards 
wrote  out  the  vow  of  chastity,  which,  being 
repeated  to  us  in  Latin  instead  of  the  marriage 
office,  we  solemnly  took  upon  ourselves, 
what  time  Monsieur  de  Chauvigny  fondly  im- 
agined that  we  were  being  united  in  holy 
matrimony. 

After  the  ceremony,  which  left  us  white  as 
the  dead,  there  was  much  embracing  by  my 


300  French  Abbeys 

deluded  father-in-law,  congratulations  by  the 
wedding  guests,  and  a  banquet  which  choked 
me,  and,  without  a  wedding  journey,  I  took 
Madame  to  my  cMteau,  which  was  henceforth 
to  be  her  home. 

The  world  knows  by  our  depositions  and 
those  of  our  servants  what  manner  of  life  we 
led. 

Our  apartments  at  the  chateau  were  con- 
nected, or  rather  divided,  by  a  small  boudoir, 
which  was  converted  into  the  sleeping-room 
of  my  serving-man.  That  he  ever  really 
slept  at  his  post  I  do  not  believe.  He  was  at 
that  time  a  Jesuit  in  novitiate,  and  a  faithful 
sentinel,  and  he  well  knows  that  my  foot 
never  passed  the  threshold  of  my  lady's 
chamber. 

Her  maid  kept  constant  guard  also,  and  we 
were  never  alone  together.  Save  for  this,  our 
life  was  like  that  of  other  husbands  and  wives 
of  our  rank.  We  went  much  into  society  and 
entertained  much,  and  none  of  our  guests  sus- 
pected our  double  lives.  I  strove  to  reach 
her  heart  through  music,  but  it  never  seemed 
to  convey  to  her  the  message  which  I  intended. 
I  read  to  her  from  the  poets  while  her  hands 
were  busy  with  some  light  fancy-work,  but, 
though  I  watched  her  furtively,  I  caught  no 


A  Fugitive  Abbot  301 

personal  application  of  the  eloquent  passages 
which  I  selected. 

We  talked  often  of  the  interests  which  we 
had  in  common  and  of  those  which  divided 
us — the  missions,  which  always  angered  me, 
and  my  plans  for  restoring  the  Abbey,  which 
she  treated  with  frank  indifference.  We 
never  touched  on  either  of  these  subjects 
without  quarrelling,  quite  after  the  manner  of 
married  people  as  I  have  observed  them. 

Pere  Ignace  smiled  when  he  listened  to  our 
controversies;  for,  acute  as  he  was  in  most 
things,  he  did  not  know  that  the  more  vio- 
lently we  disputed  the  more  we  regretted 
afterward  our  hasty  words  and  extravagant 
expressions.  If  we  could  only  have  fallen  out 
more  seriously  there  might  have  been  com- 
plete understanding  long  before  it  came,  and 
we  were  very  near  it  once. 

I  was  reproaching  her  for  her  lack  of  ap- 
preciation of  architecture.  "  If  you  had  ever 
seen  Saint  Wandrille,"  I  said,  "you  could  not 
help  loving  the  old  Abbey  as  I  do.  Every 
stone  of  it  is  precious  to  me." 

"I  should  never  care  for  it,"  she  replied; 
"and  the  reason  is  that  we  are  essentially 
different.  You  are  interested  in  things,  I  in 
people.     You  in  art  and  its  masterpieces,  I  in 


3°2  French  Abbeys 

history  and  the  deeds  that  make  history. 
You  would  be  content  to  spend  your  life  like 
so  many  other  unknown  Abbots  and  archi- 
tects in  making  this  Abbey  a  thing  of  beauty 
and  then  pass  away,  ignored  and  unremem- 
bered.     Is  it  not  so,  Rene?" 

"Gladly,"  I  replied,  "so  the  Abbey  were 
admired  and  loved." 

"Well,  so  would  not  I.  I  care  not  for  love, 
but  admiration  I  must  and  will  have  while  I 
am  living  to  enjoy  it,  and  fame  after  I  am 
gone.  I  want  to  do  something  splendid,  some- 
thing worth  the  living,  and  I  am  willing  to  dare 
and  to  suffer  for  it  as  Joan  of  Arc  did  if  I  can 
have  her  reward.  I  will  make  the  world  ad- 
mire me  some  day.  What  is  more,  I  will 
make  you  admire  me,  Rene.  You  smile  and 
think  me  romantic,  silly ;  but  there  will  come 
a  day  when  you  will  say  without  smiling: 
'She  was  a  heroine.'" 

"I  think,"  I  replied,  "that  heroism  is  un- 
conscious. I  do  not  believe  that  Joan  of  Arc 
did  what  she  did  for  the  sake  of  being  ad- 
mired, but  for  the  sake  of  France,  simply  be- 
cause God  called  her  and  she  could  not  do 
otherwise." 

She  flushed.  "Is  love  of  admiration,  then, 
so  despicable  a  motive,  when  it  prompts  to 


A  Fugitive  Abbot  303 

noble  deeds?  What  is  your  love  for  your 
Abbey  but  placing  higher  value  on  stocks  and 
stones  than  on  human  lives  and  souls  ?  You 
would  have  played  the  part  of  the  Abbot 
of  Jumieges,  Nicolas  le  Roux.  You  know- 
that  to  save  his  Abbey  from  destruction  by 
the  English,  he  became  one  of  the  judges  who 
at  Rouen  sent  Joan  of  Arc  to  the  stake. 
It  was  a  question  whether  his  precious 
Abbey  must  burn  or  only  a  girl — only  the  Sav- 
iour of  France.  So,  if  the  alternative  arose, 
you  would  let  me  burn,  instead  of  Saint 
Wandrille." 

I  remembered  those  passionate  words  after- 
ward. I  remember  them  now,  and  that  is 
why  I  am  where  I  am. 

I  was  on  the  point  of  telling  her  how  much 
more  than  the  Abbey  I  loved  her,  how  will- 
ingly I  would  see  it  fall  into  complete  ruin  if 
she  would  but  abandon  her  wild  dreams  for 
my  sake.  The  pendulum  had  swung  far 
enough  to  the  wrangling  side  for  this  reaction 
— indeed,  her  last  words  seemed  to  challenge 
it ;  when  the  Jesuit — who  had  been  pacing  in 
the  shrubbery  and  had  overheard  all,  pre- 
sented himself  blandly. 

"What,  quarrelling  again  ?"  he  said, 
smoothly;    "this  will  never  do,  and  on  such 


304  French  Abbeys 

entirely  reconcilable  lines.  The  aims  to 
which  you  have  individually  so  solemnly  de- 
voted yourselves  are  incontestably  best  for 
each.  As  Madame  could  only  be  happy  in 
the  career  of  heroic  achievement  which  she 
has  chosen,  so  Monsieur's  temperament  fits 
him  for  a  life  of  solitude  and  study.  Do  not 
quarrel,  my  children,  because  your  natures 
are  incompatible.  Be  thankful  that  you  are 
not  fettered  for  life  in  a  relation  which  would 
have  meant  not  alone  the  relinquishment  of 
your  highest  ambitions,  but  the  intolerable 
friction  of  discordant  tastes  and  unreconcil- 
able  opinions." 

I  was  silent,  devouring  Madeleine's  face  for 
some  sign  of  revolt  from  this  dictum,  but  there 
was  none  visible.  Except  for  that  outburst 
of  anger,  she  held  herself  in  admirable  self- 
control  ;  but  for  me  the  situation  became  more 
and  more  impossible,  and  who  with  the  spirit 
of  a  man  could  have  borne  such  an  ordeal? 

The  inevitable  thunderbolt  which  was  to 
clear  the  atmosphere  came  with  the  death  of 
Monsieur  de  Chauvigny,  a  sudden  death 
though  possible  at  any  time,  as  we  had  long 
known.  It  was  after  the  interment  that  Pere 
Ignace  voiced  the  thought  which  was  upper- 
most in  my  mind. 


A  Fugitive  Abbot  3°5 

"And  now  that  all  need  of  concealment  is 
removed,  the  truth  as  to  your  relations  must 
be  announced  to  the  world." 

"Yes,"  I  replied,  eagerly;  "no  more  deceit, 
the  truth,  the  real  truth." 

"Not  yet,"  Madeleine  pleaded.  "Let  the 
will  be  read  first,  and  the  property  secured  to 
me.  It  is  my  desire  that  the  revelation  shall 
be  made  at  Tours,  at  the  Ursuline  convent 
where  I  was  educated,  in  the  presence  of  the 
dear  Mother  Superior  and  of  all  the  nuns 
whom  I  loved.  They  shall  elect  from  their 
number  the  Abbess  of  the  convent  which  I 
will  found  in  Canada.  Invite  the  Duchesse 
dAiguillon,  the  Archbishop  of  Rouen,  and 
whom  you  will  to  be  present.  Let  it  be 
a  very  formal  as  well  as  sacred  ceremonial, 
but  do  not  mar  it  by  any  premature  an- 
nouncement." 

Madeleine's  legal  business  was  at  last  com- 
pleted, and  her  property  so  arranged  that  a 
signature  or  two  could  turn  it  over  to  the 
purpose  which  she  contemplated.  There  was 
no  longer  any  excuse  for  delay,  and  we  set 
out  for  Tours  in  a  travelling  carriage,  accom- 
panied by  Pere  Ignace. 

For  four  days  we  rode  together,  the  longest 
and  the  shortest  of  my  life.     The  shortest,  for 


306  French  Abbeys 

creep  as  we  might  each  evening  brought  us  in- 
exorably nearer  the  end.  The  longest,  be- 
cause I  lived  much  in  that  time, — seeing  all 
my  past  and  all  my  future  with  the  clearness 
which  comes  to  men  upon  their  deathbeds. 
I  said  nothing,  for  Pere  Ignace  was  always 
seated  opposite,  apparently  absorbed  in  his 
breviary,  though  I  know  that  he  read  my  feel- 
ings in  my  tell-tale  face,  for  more  than  once 
he  laid  his  book  open  upon  his  knee,  and  we 
could  see  unfolded  within  its  leaves  a  written 
paper  bearing  our  signatures,  the  vow  of  chas- 
tity which  we  had  signed  in  the  Hotel  de  Ville, 
when  the  wedding  guests  imagined  that  we 
were  recording  our  names  in  the  register  of 
marriages. 

Madeleine  did  not  recognise  this  paper  until 
the  last  afternoon  of  our  journey.  We  had 
reached  Saint  Symphorien,  the  northern  fau- 
bourg of  Tours,  and  the  last  stage  of  our  jour- 
ney. As  we  alighted  at  an  inn  for  supper, 
Madeleine  remarked  on  the  beauty  of  the  view, 
and  proposed  that  we  should  walk  a  little  way 
upon  the  stone  bridge  which  spans  the  Loire, 
while  Pere  Ignace  ordered  supper. 

He  could  not  refuse,  but  he  opened  his 
breviary  and  pointed  to  the  pledge.  She  met 
his  significant  look  with  dignity.     "I  have 


A  Fugitive  Abbot  307 

not  forgotten,  my  Father,  but  as  this  is  the 
last  opportunity  which  I  shall  have  for  a  fare- 
well conversation  with  Monsieur  de  Bernieres, 
I  trust  that  you  will  permit  it." 

He  looked  at  us  suspiciously,  and,  only  half 
satisfied,  entered  the  inn,  muttering  that  he 
would  join  us  presently. 

"Quick,  quick,  Rene!"  she  whispered,  and 
we  hurried  out  upon  the  bridge. 

"That  was  the  compact  which  binds  us  to 
our  vows,"  she  said  to  me  in  a  choking  voice. 

"Is  it  possible  that  you  regret  it?"  I 
exclaimed. 

"Can  you  doubt  it?"  she  replied  faintly. 

"Then  it  is  not  too  late,"  I  declared.  "I 
can  wrench  it  from  his  hands  and  we  shall  be 
free.  You  can  endow  the  mission  with  your 
fortune.  That  will  appear  a  sufficient  reason 
for  this  journey  and  the  invitations  you  have 
sent  your  friends  to  be  present,  but  you  need 
not  go.  I  will  give  up  Saint  Wandrille,  every- 
thing for  you,  my  love,  my  love !" 

She  was  faint  with  emotion,  and  leaned 
giddily  on  the  parapet  of  the  bridge.  There 
was  no  one  near,  and  my  arms  were  about  her. 
Passionately  I  begged  her  to  reconsider  her 
resolution. 

"If  the  paper  were  destroyed,  Pkre  Ignace 


308  French  Abbeys 

would  still  witness  against  us,"  she  ai> 
swered. 

"I  can  silence  him,"  I  replied.  "It  is  only 
money  which  he  wishes.  He  shall  have  all  of 
yours  and  as  much  of  mine  as  he  demands." 

"But  the  other  witnesses?  We  cannot  be 
free  so  long  as  they  live." 

"There  were  no  other  witnesses  save  the 
Archbishop,"  I  protested,  "and  I  can  win 
him.  The  others  who  saw  us  write  our  names 
knew  not  what  we  signed.  Pere  Ignace  is  the 
only  other  human  being  who  knows  of  the 
existence  of  our  vow." 

"But  we  know,  Rene,  and  God  was  witness. 
You  cannot  so  sin  against  your  conscience." 

"Yes,"  I  replied,  "I  can.  I  will  give  my 
salvation  for  your  love." 

"You  cannot  have  it  on  those  terms,"  Pere 
Ignace  sternly  asserted.  He  had  followed  un- 
perceived,  and  had  heard  my  last  excited 
utterances. 

' '  You  cannot  bribe  me,  for  I  watch  over  her 
soul  as  one  who  must  give  an  account." 

"Then  render  that  account  now,"  I  cried, 
and  throwing  myself  upon  him  suddenly  with 
all  my  force  I  hurled  him  over* the  parapet 
and  into  the  river. 

"Murderer!"  cried  Madeleine,  and  in  that 


A  Fugitive  Abbot  309 

word  I  heard  the  death  sentence  of  all  my 
hopes. 

"I  can  swim/'  I  panted.  ''Shall  I  save 
him?     Think  well  what  it  means." 

"Save  him!  Save  him!'*  she  entreated; 
and  I  leaped  the  parapet  and  was  battling  the 
river  for  dear  life — nay,  but  for  two  hateful 
lives,  that  of  my  enemy  and  my  own,  which 
was  no  longer  dear  to  me.  It  was  a  harder 
matter  than  I  thought,  for  he  mistook  my 
kind  intentions  and  struggled  in  my  grasp; 
but  at  last  I  brought  him  unconscious  to  the 
shore.  Madeleine's  cries  for  help  had  brought 
a  knot  of  bargemen  who  assisted  us  to  the  inn, 
where  Pere  Ignace  presently  revived. 

"And  do  you  tell  me  that  this  man  saved 
my  life?"  he  asked  of  the  witnesses. 

"Most  gallantly,"  they  all  assured  him. 
"At  the  risk  of  his  own,"  the  innkeeper  added, 
"for  I  was  on  the  bridge,  having  come  to  call 
you  to  supper,  and  saw  him  leap  after  you 
into  the  water." 

Pere  Ignace  was  silent  for  a  space,  but 
when  we  were  alone  together  he  said :  ' '  Even 
this  bribe  I  will  not  accept,  for  I  count  my  life 
as  nothing  as  weighed  against  my  duty." 

"And  my  happiness  is  nothing,"  I  replied, 
"in  comparison  with  hers.     I  relinquish  all." 


3*o  French  Abbeys 

''Then,  my  son,  I  absolve  you,"  he  said, 
kindly,  "for  you  have  expiated  your  fault. 
There  are  none  who  are  not  tempted.  You 
have  my  respect  and  my  silence." 

I  need  not  relate,  for  it  is  everywhere 
known,  how  the  next  day  in  the  chapel  of  the 
Ursulines  Madeleine  and  I  publicly  repu- 
diated and  relinquished  each  other,  and  how 
a  few  weeks  later  the  little  band  of  devoted 
women  sailed  from  Brest,  followed  by  the 
prayers  and  tears  of  a  vast  multitude. 

Madeleine  was  heroic  to  the  last;  but  my 
guardian  led  me  away  half  demented  from 
that  embarkation,  for  my  heart  was  broken. 

I  retired  to  Saint  Wandrille,  taking  the 
vows  of  a  simple  monk,  and  devoted  all  that 
I  possessed  to  its  restoration.  The  dear  Arch- 
bishop visited  me  frequently,  for  he  loved 
to  retreat  to  this  exquisite  spot  from  his 
many  cares.  He  was  aging  sensibly,  growing 
heavy  in  mind  and  body,  but  more  benignant 
than  ever.  Our  Abbe  Commendataire  never 
came  near  Saint  Wandrille,  but  he  filled  it 
with  costly  objects  of  ecclesiastical  art  until 
it  resembled  a  palace  rather  than  a  religious 
house. 

So  five  years  passed,  and  one  memorable 


CLOISTER  OF  SAINT  WANDRILLE. 
By  permission  of  Neurdein  Freres. 


CLOISTER,  L'ABBAYE  DE  LA  VIQNE. 


A  Fugitive  Abbot  311 

day  my  guardian  arrived  with  the  news  that 
our  absentee  Abbot  was  dead.  He  delivered 
the  tidings  with  no  note  of  regret,  but  with  a 
sweeping  gesture  which  took  in  the  sump- 
tuously appointed  library  added:  "It  is  a 
well-lined  nest  which  his  successor  will  enjoy, 
is  it  not,  my  Rene?" 

"And  to  think,"  I  replied,  "that  our  late 
Abbot  never  saw  the  luxuries  which  he  has 
provided  for  a  man  in  whom  he  had  no 
interest." 

"Eh!  What?  The  late  Abbot  provided 
all  this?  You  are  greatly  mistaken,  Rene. 
It  was  I  who  donated  these  treasures  of  art  to 
Saint  Wandrille,  and  they  are  to  be  enjoyed 
by  a  man  in  whom  I  have  a  very  great  in- 
terest. None  other  than  Rene  de  Bernieres, 
the  new  Abbot  of  Saint  Wandrille.  Nay,  do 
not  look  so  incredulous.  Here  is  Brother 
Xavier  of  the  Society  of  Jesus,  who  comes 
directly  from  his  Majesty  with  your  appoint- 
ment. Pere  Ignace  has  not  been  unmindful 
of  what  he  and  the  Society  at  large  owe  you. 
The  Jesuits  have  laboured  diligently  in  antici- 
pation of  the  long-expected  death  of  the  late 
Abbot.  Indeed,  your  credentials  were  signed 
two  years  since,  and  it  only  remained  to  affix 
the  date  to-day." 


312  French  Abbeys 

I  expressed  my  sense  of  obligation,  but 
while  I  entertained  my  guests  in  the  almost 
regal  palais  abbatial,  I  reflected  bitterly  that 
all  this  had  come  to  me  as  the  price  for  the 
part  which  I  had  played — the  rescue  of  Pere 
Ignace  and  my  supposed  voluntary  relinquish- 
ment of  Madeleine. 

As  fate  would  have  it,  another  guest 
knocked  at  the  Abbey  gate  that  night,  Father 
Jogues,  a  Jesuit  missionary  returned  from 
America,  having  escaped  after  incredible  tor- 
tures from  the  hands  of  the  Iroquois.  Taken 
captive  by  the  heathen,  he  had  witnessed  the 
martyrdom  of  his  associate,  and  had  admin- 
istered the  rites  of  religion  to  other  captives 
as  they  were  being  burned  to  death.  He  had 
been  starved,  frozen,  given  over  to  the  Indian 
children — true  imps  of  Satan — to  be  tortured, 
and  had  retaliated  by  baptising  them,  thus 
snatching  their  souls  from  the  clutches  of  the 
devil.  One  of  his  thumbs  had  been  burned 
off  in  a  red-hot  calumet,  and  his  hands  bored 
with  hot  irons,  until  they  seemed  to  bear  the 
sacred  stigmata.  His  savage  masters  had 
taken  him  to  Albany  on  one  of  their  trading 
expeditions,  and  the  Dutch,  taking  pity  upon 
him,  had  concealed  and  sent  him  to  New 
York,  whence  he    had  been   given    passage 


A  Fugitive  Abbot  3X3 

to  England,  and  had  at  last  arrived  in 
France. 

As  I  contrasted  the  living  martyrdom  of 
this  missionary  with  my  own  life  of  selfish 
ease,  I  could  but  admit  that  if  I  believed  what 
I  professed,  then  he  had  indeed  chosen  the 
infinitely  better  part.  But  did  I  believe? 
Did  the  Archbishop  himself  believe?  I  saw 
him,  entirely  unmoved  by  Father  .  Jogues's 
recital,  offering  his  lap-dog  a  lump  of  sugar 
from  his  coffee,  and  I  could  scarce  repress  my 
indignation. 

Then  suddenly  overwhelming  my  sympathy 
for  the  missionary  and  all  other  considera- 
tions, like  an  inrushing  tide  came  the  realisa- 
tion that  Madeleine  was  exposed  to  all  these 
dangers,  and  might  even  now  be  a  captive  in 
the  hands  of  these  devils. 

I  had  thought  of  her  as  safe  and  com- 
paratively comfortable  in  the  fortress  of 
Quebec ;  but,  as  I  interrogated  Father  Jogues, 
he  told  us  that  the  new  mission  had  been 
established  in  the  Huron  village  of  Sil- 
lery,  quite  beyond  the  protection  of  the 
garrison. 

He  had  seen  her  there,  caring  for  the  In- 
dian children,  who  were  dying  with  the 
smallpox,  and   happier  in  these   loathsome, 


3r4  French  Abbeys 

perilous  surroundings  than  when  she  was  the 
admiration  of  all  France. 

More  than  this  he  told  me,  and  it  was  the 
spark  which  set  fire  to  my  resolve. 

He  had  learned  in  the  Iroquois  country 
that  an  incursion  was  to  be  made  upon  their 
hereditary  enemies,  the  Hurons,  during  the 
coming  season,  and  not  the  converted  In- 
dians alone,  but  their  devoted  teachers  and 
missionaries  were  in  the  greatest  danger. 

He  had  written  to  Frontenac,  but  doubted, 
even  if  the  information  were  received,  that  the 
heroic  little  band  of  Ursulines  could  be  per- 
suaded to  abandon  their  mission. 

Not  a  moment  did  I  sleep  that  night.  The 
Iroquois  would  not  go  upon  the  war-path, 
Father  Jogues  had  explained,  until  mid- 
summer. I  would  have  time  to  reach  Can- 
ada if  I  left  at  once;  and  my  resolution  was 
quickly  taken.  The  manner  of  my  going 
alone  remained  to  be  decided  upon.  Should 
I,  after  resigning  my  new  sinecure,  endeavour 
to  be  freed  from  all  religious  vows  and  join 
the  army,  or  be  transferred  into  the  Society 
of  Jesus  ?  Either  alternative  demanded  time, 
and  submitted  me  to  slavery.  If  I  were  to 
save  Madeleine  at  this  juncture,  I  must  go  at 
once — and  secretly.     I  therefore  delayed  only 


A  Fugitive  Abbot  315 

to  speed  my  guests,  not  even  taking  my 
guardian  into  my  confidence,  for  I  knew  how 
he  would  oppose  the  step. 

I  kept  back  suspicion  and  search  for  a  time 
by  telling  the  Prior  of  the  Abbey  that  I  was 
going  to  Paris  and  would  be  absent  for  several 
weeks,  engaged  upon  matters  pertaining  to 
my  new  appointment,  and  so  left  Saint 
Wandrille  for  ever. 

Disguised  as  an  emigrant,  I  took  passage  a 
few  days  later  in  a  ship  which  I  was  fortunate 
enough  to  find  about  to  sail  for  Canada.  But 
arrived  at  Quebec,  my  story  of  having  met 
Father  Jogues  was  not  believed  by  the  Comte 
de  Frontenac. 

The  Iroquois  had  sent  messengers  of  peace 
to  the  last  conference ;  there  seemed  to  be  no 
danger  of  an  incursion,  and  no  soldiers  were 
posted  at  the  Sillery  Mission. 

Despairing,  powerless  to  protect  the  woman 
I  loved,  knowing  that  it  would  be  worse  than 
useless  to  make  myself  known  to  her,  I  still 
visited  Sillery  and  talked  with  the  converted 
Indians.  I  found  them  devoted  to  their  mis- 
sionaries, for  whom  they  had  built  a  chapel 
and  some  huts.  I  warned  them  of  the  hostile 
intentions  of  the  Iroquois,  and  was  comforted 
by  their  promise  to  be  on  their  guard,  and  to 


316  French  Abbeys 

protect  their  benefactresses  with  their  lives. 
I  spoke  to  Mother  Marie  de  V  Incarnation,  and 
I  saw  thee,  Madeleine,  bending  over  a  sick 
child,  but  I  left  the  village,  making  no  sign.  I 
could  not,  however,  leave  its  neighbourhood, 
and  in  reconnoitring  the  site,  I  saw  that  a 
promontory  to  the  west  commanded  a  view 
not  alone  of  the  village  nestling  at  its  foot, 
but  of  the  reaches  of  the  river.  A  sentinel 
posted  here  could  descry  the  first  approach  of 
the  war-canoes  of  the  Iroquois,  and  I  resolved 
to  be  that  sentinel.  Here,  my  Madeleine,  I 
abide  in  the  guise  of  a  hermit.  Each  morning 
I  behold  the  smoke  curl  upward  from  the  rude 
cabin  which  serves  thee  as  a  cloister ;  and 
when  I  note  thy  slight  figure  leading  the  little 
Indian  girls  to  the  chapel,  I  kneel  before  the 
cross  which  I  have  carved  in  the  bark  of  the 
tree  before  the  door  of  my  cave  and  join  thee  in 
thy  devotions.  My  gun  and  my  spy-glass  stand 
side  by  side.  I  have  arranged  a  series  of  signals 
with  the  Hurons :  a  pennant  from  the  top  of  the 
blasted  pine  by  day,  a  lantern  by  night,  to 
tell  of  the  approach  of  danger.  And  here  I  will 
guard  thee  and  thy  work  until  death  do  us  part. 

The    story    of   Rene    de    Bernieres   ended 
abruptly  here. 


A  Fugitive  Abbot  317 

Upon  the  envelope  in  another  hand  was 
this   endorsement: 

"This  MS.  was  discovered  buried  in  a 
metal  box  in  'The  Hermit's  Cave'  near  Sil- 
lery.  The  locality  bore  its  name  from  the 
fact  that  a  human  skeleton,  supposed  to  be 
that  of  an  unknown  man,  whose  presence 
many  years  before  had  provoked  much  curi- 
osity, had  been  found  here.  Its  position, 
with  the  knees  drawn  up,  and  the  skull 
crushed  as  though  by  an  Indian  war-club, 
seemed  to  imply  that  the  mysterious  stranger 
had  been  surprised  while  sleeping,  and  had 
thus  met  his  death  at  the  hands  of  the 
Iroquois." 

Madame  de  la  Peltrie  removed  with  her 
companions  from  Sillery  before  the  incursion, 
and  lived  to  old  age.  Her  romantic  adven- 
tures are  still  related  with  admiration  by  the 
Ursulines  of  Canada. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE  SIN  OF  ABBOT  NICOLAS 

"La  vieillesse  couronne  et  la  ruine  acheve, 
II  faut  a  l'edifice  un  passe  dont  on  reve 
Deuil,  triomphe  ou  remords. 

"Muette  en  sa  douleur  Jumiege  gravement 
EtoufTe  un  triste  echo  sous  son  portail  Normand, 


Bien  souvent  le  passe  couvre  plus  d'un  secret 
Dont  sur  un  mur  vieilli  la  tache  reparait. 
Est  ce  qu'aucun  noir  forfait,  seme  dans  ta  racine. 
Pour  jeter  quel  que  jour  son  ombre  a  ta  ruine, 
Ne  mele  a  tes  lauriers  son  feuillage  hideux?" 

Victor  Hugo. 

STATELY  and  masterful  the  twin  towers 
of  the  Abbey  of  Jumieges  still  dominate 
in  lordly  dignity  the  beautiful  ruins  of  the 
once  powerful  monastery,  and  the  long,  level 
reaches  of  the  Abbey  seignory,  bounded  by 

318 


CO      O 

<    o 
UJ   '8 

M 

CO     » 


The  Sin  of  Abbot  Nicolas        319 

the  great  loop  of  the  Seine.  Rouen  lies  just 
to  the  east,  hidden  by  a  purple  haze,  but  as 
far  as  the  eye  can  discern  all  is  solitude  and 
peace;  the  tiny  hamlet  at  the  Abbey  gate 
has  fallen  asleep  and  the  ringing  of  the 
reapers'  scythes  in  the  meadows  is  the  only 
sound  that  strikes  the  ear.  But  the  roofless 
ruin  is  lovingly  guarded,  the  strong  Norman 
towers  will  resist  the  tooth  of  time  for  many 
a  century,  and  Jumieges  may,  perhaps,  be 
the  last  of  the  Abbeys  to  crumble,  as  she  was 
among  the  first  to  rise.  For  the  annals  of  the 
Abbey  antedate  the  authentic  history  of 
France.  Its  best-known  tradition  is  that  of 
the  coming  of  the  enerves,  the  two  rebellious 
sons  of  Colodowig  II.  and  Queen  Bathilde,  who, 
with  the  muscles  of  their  legs  and  arm  severed, 
were  laid  in  an  open  boat  and  set  adrift  upon 
the  Seine,  to  be  carried  to  their  death. 

The  current  brought  them,  instead,  to  Ju- 
mieges, where  the  monks  received  and  kindly 
cared  for  them  in  their  helplessness.  Their 
tombs  are  still  preserved  in  the  little  museum 
of  the  Abbey,  the  mutilated  effigies  of  the 
Merovingian  princes,  with  their  long  hair 
bound  by  narrow  crowns,  and  their  belted 
robes  and  mantles  witnessing  to  the  origin 
of  the  legend. 


320  French  Abbeys 

But  another  tomb  stirs  a  livelier  interest 
than  can  be  evoked  by  these  almost  mythical 
personages.  It  is  that  of  the  gentle  and 
beautiful  Agnes,  Lady  of  the  Manor  of  Mesnil- 
sous-Jumieges.  Of  her  unpretending  home, 
to  which  she  returned  to  die,  there  remains 
little  to  reward  the  sight -seer.  Perhaps  in 
her  own  time  it  was  as  unostentatious,  cur- 
tained from  view  by  purple -tasselled  wistaria, 
a  hidden  retreat  from  the  burden  of  mag- 
nificent notoriety.  The  same  sweet  scents 
of  blossoming  lilacs  must  have  environed  it, 
for 

"  L'air  du  pays  et  demeurance  heureuse 
A  ne  sais  je  quoi  de  douceur  amour  euse, 
Qui  laisse  au  cozur  un  joyeux  souvenir, 
Et  Vappetit  d'y  vouloir  revenir." 

Not  such  the  scents  which  linger  in  memory 
as  we  think  of  the  Abbey  of  Jumieges.  Its 
beauty  of  clinging  vine  and  sculptured  stone 
was  marred  for  us  that  sultry  day  by  an  in- 
definable suffocating  odor,  vaguely  disagree- 
able, pervasive  yet  inexplicable. 

"It  is  the  smoke  from  brush-heaps  which 
the  peasants  are  burning  in  the  fields,"  said 
the  gate-keeper. 

"It  is  our  dinner  burning  uncared-for  in  the 


The  Sin  of  Abbot  Nicolas        321 

kitchen, "  we  said  to  the  innkeeper,  as  we 
took  our  seats  in  the  worst  hostelry  in  all 
Normandy.  The  Inn  of  the  Enervated  Ones, 
F.  persisted  in  translating  the  inscription 
upon  its  sign-board,  declaring  that  no  guest, 
unless  disabled  as  completely  as  the  two 
Merovingian  princes,  could  have  refrained 
from  fleeing  at  the  first  whiff  of  the  fetid  fumes 
which  now  assailed  our  nostrils. 

"You  perceive  it,  then,  a  faint  but  noisome 
scent  of  scorching  flesh  ? ' '  remarked  a  man  in 
black,  who,  like  us,  was  awaiting  service  in 
the  dining-room  of  the  inn.  "Have  no 
solicitude,  it  is  not  your  dinner  which  is  being 
consumed.  Do  you  not  detect  also  the  acrid 
smoke  of  pitch  and  the  nauseating  fumes  of 
sulphur?" 

"I  cannot  analyse  its  composition,"  I  re- 
plied, "but  it  is  the  most  un-Christian  odour 
which  I  have  ever  encountered,  and  my 
experience  in  Italy  and  France  has  been 
comprehensive. ' ' 

The  stranger  bowed.  "  '  Un-Christian,'  Ma- 
dame, is  its  precise  designation,  for  it  has 
to  do  with  a  crime — the  burnt -offering  of  the 
Abbot  of  Jumieges.  He  bears  the  weight  of 
opprobrium,  though  the  sin  was  shared  by  all 
the  Norman  Abbots  of  his  time,  for  they  saved 


322  French  Abbeys 

their  Abbeys  from  destruction  by  complicity 
in  the  same  shameful  sacrifice/' 

Perceiving  a  story  in  perspective,  we 
feigned  entire  ignorance,  and  the  stranger 
launched  eagerly  forth,  giving,  with  more  of 
detail  than  memory  serves  to  reproduce,  the 
substance  of  the  following  tale : 

Nicolas  le  Roux,  in  the  early  half  of  the  fif- 
teenth century,  fifty-ninth  Abbot  of  Jumieges, 
loved  his  Abbey  more  than  his  own  soul,  and 
this  he  would  have  confessed,  for  he  counted 
it  to  himself  as  a  virtue.  It  was  such  a 
magnificent  and  venerable  Abbey,  of  such 
wealth  and  power  and  illustrious  history  that 
he  deeply  realised  the  responsibility  as  well 
as  the  honour  of  being  its  ruler  and  protector 
in  the  troublous  times  which  had  now  fallen 
upon  France. 

The  King  himself  had  "droit  de  gite"  (right 
of  entertainment)  at  Jumieges,  and  the  royal 
apartment  boasted  a  lit  de  parade  with  velvet 
curtains  bordered  with  ermine,  and  the  very 
washstand  had  a  velvet  petticoat  and  a  silver 
ewer. 

The  Abbot  well  remembered  his  sovereign's 
only  visit  to  the  Abbey,  though  he  had  re- 
alised little  good  from  that  royal  procession, 
for  the   King  was  half -crazed   and  took  no 


The  Sin  of  Abbot  Nicolas         3^3 

note  of  his  surroundings.  But  the  Dauphin 
Charles,  who  accompanied  the  party,  though  a 
silent  lad,  inspired  the  Abbot  with  hope. 

During  a  hunt  in  the  forest,  the  prince's 
pony  had  gone  lame,  and  as  this  occurred  not 
far  from  the  Manor  of  Mesnil  recourse  was  had 
to  its  stables  for  a  substitute.  A  mettlesome 
palfrey,  the  Lady  Agnes's  own,  was  offered, 
but  seeing  how  the  creature,  frightened  by  the 
unaccustomed  confusion,  bit  and  struggled 
with  the  grooms,  the  timid  prince  concluded 
that  it  was  unbroken  and  dangerous,  and 
feared  to  mount.  Seeing  this,  the  Lady  Agnes, 
at  that  time  a  mere  slip  of  a  girl,  sprang  to 
the  side  of  her  pet  and  quieting  it  with 
caresses  and  sugar,  curvetted  twice  around 
the  haras,  Prince  Charles  regarding  her  all  the 
time  with  mingled  shame  and  admiration. 

"You  are  surely  not  afraid  to  ride  my 
palfrey  now?"  she  said,  as  she  dismounted 
before  him. 

"Nay,"  he  answered  sullenly,  "I  am  not 
afraid  to  do  anything  which  a  maid  can  do." 
But  as  he  looked  at  her  and  saw  that  she  was 
not  holding  him  up  to  ridicule,  his  pique 
vanished,  and  he  said  more  gallantly,  "I 
mean,  pretty  damsel,  that  I  can  do  anything 
if  you  will  but  show  me  the  way." 


324  French  Abbeys 

The  Prince  stopped  at  the  manor  to  bid 
her  farewell  as  the  royal  cortege  returned  to 
Rouen. 

' 'Sweet  mistress,"  he  said,  "will  you  not 
leave  this  wild  forest  and  dwell  at  Court?" 

But  the  fair  Agnes  shook  her  head:  "The 
Court  is  more  dangerous  for  maids  than  our 
forest  for  princes,"  she  made  answer  modestly, 
and  the  Dauphin  watched  her  yearningly  as 
he  rode  away. 

"I  shall  come  again,  my  Lord  Abbot,"  he 
had  said  as  he  left  Jumieges.  "Keep  my 
guest-room  ready,"  and  he  had  sung  the  old 
chanson  about  the  sweetness  of  the  air  and 
the  longing  to  return  with  which  it  inspired 
his  heart,  for  no  mephitic  smoke  at  that  time 
tainted  innocent  Jumieges. 

Nicolas  le  Roux  built  many  a  hope  for 
his  Abbey  on  this  favourable  impression. 
"When  the  Prince  is  king  he  will  be  our 
powerful  patron,"  he  thought,  and  in  his 
mind's  eye  the  Abbot  saw  new  and  palatial 
buildings  springing  up  around  the  antiquated 
structure. 

When  the  English  overran  the  country  he 
fortified  and  defended  the  monastery  until, 
on  the  fall  of  Rouen,  the  terrible  Duke  of 
Bedford   appeared   before   Jumieges   with   a 


The  Sin  of  Abbot  Nicolas        325 

division  of  the  main  army  and  summoned  it 
to  surrender. 

"  I  give  myself  for  my  Abbey,"  said  le  Roux, 
as  he  tendered  his  submission. 

"A  worthy  peace-offering,"  replied  the 
duke  smoothly,  for  he  had  his  uses  for  the 
Abbot  of  Jumieges.  "You  have  but  to  ac- 
knowledge, as  all  of  your  brother  Abbots 
have  done,  the  spiritual  authority  of  His 
Grace  the  Cardinal  Bishop  of  Winchester, 
and  everything  else  shall  remain  as  it  has 
been." 

"Have  all  the  Abbots  of  Normandy,  then, 
submitted?"  asked  Nicolas. 

"Even  to  Abbot  Jolivet  of  that  strongest 
Abbey  of  all,  the  Mont  Saint  Michel." 

It  was  true;  the  cowardly  Jolivet  was  at 
Rouen,  where  he  had  gone  to  surrender  the 
keys  of  his  fortress  monastery;  but  in  his 
absence  his  warlike  flock  repudiated  his  mis- 
sion and,  resisting  for  eight  years  all  at- 
tacks, kept  the  Abbey  virgin  in  its  loyalty  to 
France.-  The  monastery  of  Bee,  which  had 
garrisoned  its  donjon -keep  with  French  sol- 
diers, also  resisted,  but  had  been  put  to  flame 
and  sword  and  its  Abbot  carried  a  prisoner 
to  Rouen.  The  other  Abbots  had  attempted 
no  opposition,  but  looked  each  other  in  the 


326  French  Abbeys 

face  with  no  acute  feeling  of  shame  as  they 
swore  allegiance,  for  as  yet  they  knew  not 
the  dirty  work  which  would  be  demanded  of 
them. 

There  was  a  French  ecclesiastic  at  Rouen, 
however,  whom  with  one  accord  his  comrades 
cordially  despised.  This  was  Pierre  Cauchon, 
Bishop  of  Beauvais. 

He,  while  his  city  was  still  in  the  possession 
of  the  French,  had  turned  traitor,  and  to  save 
himself  from  the  fury  of  his  townspeople,  had 
run  away  to  England.  Here  he  had  wormed 
himself  into  the  good  graces  of  the  Bishop  of 
Winchester,  who  had  sent  the  self -exile  to 
Rouen,  promising  that  he  should  one  day 
be  its  archbishop  if  he  served  England  well. 

It  was  not  until  the  capture  of  Joan  of  Arc 
that  Winchester  drew  upon  the  promissory 
notes  with  which  the  Abbots  had  ransomed 
their  Abbeys.  Her  capture  alive  was  the 
best  fortune  which  could  have  befallen  the 
English.  To  her  were  due  all  the  French  vic- 
tories in  the  last  campaign.  It  was  .she  who 
had  effected  the  coronation  of  Charles  VII. 
at  Rheims.  The  French  believed  in  her 
divine  mission,  and  she  must  not  die  until 
it  was  discredited.  She  must  be  proved  an 
impostor. 


The  Sin  of  Abbot  Nicolas        327 

She  had  been  captured  at  Compiegne  in  the 
diocese  of  Beauvais,  and  in  the  circumstance 
Winchester  saw  his  opportunity.  Joan  should 
be  tried  by  the  traitor  bishop,  for  Pierre 
Cauchon  was  his  creature,  body  and  soul. 

Cauchon  placed  her  prosecution  in  the 
hands  of  the  Grand  Inquisitor  of  France,  and 
made  up  his  tribunal  of  judges  from  French 
prelates  known  to  be  favourable  to  the  Eng- 
lish, and  among  these  were  the  Abbots  of 
eleven  Norman  Abbeys  who  had  given  their 
submission  to  the  Bishop  of  Winchester. 

When  Nicolas  le  Roux  understood  at  what 
a  price  he  had  purchased  the  safety  of 
Jumieges  he  was  aghast  and  would  have  fled. 

"Be  not  daunted/'  said  the  monk  Isam- 
bard,  who  had  brought  him  the  summons; 
"I  am  a  Dominican,  a  servant  of  the  Holy 
Office,  and  as  such  must  play  my  part  in 
this  matter.  Should  not  some  honest  men 
be  employed  in  it?  It  may  be  that  God 
has  called  us  to  see  that  justice  is  done." 

This  excuse  Abbot  Nicolas  gave  to  Agnes 
of  Manoir  Mesnil  when  he  called  upon  her  to 
explain  his  proposed  journey.  The  girl  be- 
lieved in  his  good  faith. 

"You  will  save  her,"  she  exclaimed,  "even 
as  she  has  saved  France!     For  indeed  with 


328  French  Abbeys 

the  great  victories  of  Orleans  and  Patay,  and 
Charles  crowned  as  king,  its  salvation  is  as- 
sured. Ah!  where  is  Charles  now?  He,  who 
boasted  here  that  he  could  do  anything  which 
a  maid  could  do,  why  has  he  not  followed  the 
example  of  this  glorious  maid?" 

"With  your  pardon,  sweet  mistress,"  cor- 
rected the  Abbot,  "the  Dauphin  said  rather 
that  he  could  do  anything — if  you  would 
show  him  the  way." 

"Nay,"  replied  the  Lady  Agnes,  "he  hath 
better  counsellors  than  I,  and  if  he  is  so  inert, 
so  sunk  in  sloth  that  he  will  not  heed  the 
voice  of  his  own  conscience,  neither  would  he 
listen  to  mine.  It  is  for  you,  my  Lord  Abbot, 
to  champion  the  champion  of  France,  and  to 
win  the  reward  of  a  hero." 

Encouraged  by  the  girl's  faith,  a  noble  im- 
pulse flared  in  the  Abbot's  heart,  and  at  the 
first  convocation  of  the  tribunal  he  rose  and 
impeached  the  authority  of  Pierre  Cauchon 
to  try  the  case.  "This  trial  is  not  legal,"  he 
declared,  "for  the  Bishop  of  Beauvais  has 
acknowledged  himself  hostile  to  the  prisoner, 
and  is  therefore  no  unbiassed  judge.  More- 
over, he  cannot  question  her  divine  mis- 
sion, since  that  has  been  already  established 
by  his  spiritual  superior,  the  Archbishop  of 


The  Sin  of  Abbot  Nicolas         329 

Rheims,  from  whom  the  See  of  Beauvais  is 
holden." 

Cauchon  was  furious  and  arrested  the  dar- 
ing Abbot,  who  protested  that  he  had  no 
authority  to  do  so  as  he  was  under  no  juris- 
diction but  that  of  the  Archbishop  of  Rouen. 

But  the  Duke  of  Bedford  supported  Cau- 
chon, and  Nicolas  le  Roux  had  time  in  prison 
for  reflection  which  cooled  his  ardour.  Cau- 
chon was  endeavouring  to  have  him  con- 
demned to  be  sewn  in  a  sack  and  thrown  into 
the  Seine;  but  his  brother  Abbots  bravely 
demanded  his  release  and  the  Inquisitor- 
general  insisted  that  he  should  take  his  place 
upon  the  tribunal,  sending  him  at  the  same 
time  a  confidential  hint  that  his  friends  would 
not  be  able  to  save  him  a  second  time  if  he 
had  not  the  sense  to  bridle  his  tongue. 

The  trial  lasted  from  the  21st  of  Febru- 
ary to  the  30th  of  May,  1431.  The  court 
held  forty  sittings,  but  on  none  of  these 
did  Nicolas  le  Roux  again  attempt  to  take 
the  part  of  the  poor  girl  condemned  from  the 
outset.  Bravely  she  struggled  against  the 
efforts  to  trap  her  in  her  unadvised  state- 
ments, without  counsel,  without  a  single 
member  in  that  tribunal  who  knew  not  that 
his  life  was  at  stake  if  he  attempted  to  treat 


33°  French  Abbeys 

her  with  fairness.  Isambard  de  la  Pierre 
alone  endeavoured  to  aid  her,  advising  her 
by  signs  how  to  answer  her  cross-examiners; 
but,  this  being  discovered,  he  was  rudely  ex- 
pelled from  the  court -room.  This  is  not  the 
place  to  follow  the  iniquities  of  that  process. 
Every  device  that  fiendish  cruelty  could  im- 
agine was  employed  against  the  defenceless 
girl  by  the  prosecution. 

At  last  the  Abbots,  troubled  in  conscience 
at  the  thought  of  condemning  her  to  be  burned 
as  a  witch,  begged  her  to  save  her  life  by  sign- 
ing a  paper  confessing  that  she  might  have 
been  in  error  as  to  her  visions. 

"I  had  rather  sign  than  burn,"  she  said 
with  a  shudder. 

This  ill-considered  mercy  of  her  judges 
made  her  condemn  herself  in  the  eye  of  the 
public.  She  had  been  regarded  heretofore 
as  a  heroine,  and  every  means  was  now  taken 
by  Bedford  to  give  what  was  called  her  re- 
cantation the  utmost  publicity.  Two  stands 
were  erected  in  the  cemetery  of  the  Abbey 
of  Saint  Ouen  in  the  centre  of  Rouen  before 
the  door  of  the  Marmousets.  On  one  sat  the 
Bishop  of  Beauvais,  with  the  Cardinal  of 
Winchester  and  the  court ;  to  the  other  Joan 
was  conducted,  and  in  the  presence  of  the 


The  Sin  of  Abbot  Nicolas        33 l 

multitude  signed — not  the  paper  which  had 
been  read  to  her,  but,  as  was  afterwards 
proved,  a  formal  abjuration  of  her  preten- 
sions to  her  divine  mission,  and  an  acknow- 
ledgment of  the  crimes  of  which  she  was 
accused.  This  paper  was  read  aloud  to  the 
audience,  but  Joan,  worn  out  by  her  suffer- 
ings, neither  understood  nor  heard. 

Having  confessed,  she  could  not  be  put  to 
death,  but,  recovering  from  her  weakness  and 
being  told  what  she  had  done,  she  bravely 
disavowed  her  abjuration,  and  two  days  later, 
May  30,  1 43 1,  the  heroic  maid  was  led  out 
through  crowds  of  weeping  people,  whom 
ranks  of  English  soldiers  kept  back,  to  her 
death  in  the  market-place. 

One  friend  stood  at  her  side  at  the  scaf- 
fold's foot;  it  was  the  monk  Isambard.  No 
crucifix  had  been  given  her,  and  he  rushed 
into  a  neighbouring  church  and  brought  one 
from  the  altar,  holding  it  before  her  until  her 
death,  though  Joan  herself  begged  him  to 
step  back  as  the  devouring  flame  shot  up 
between  them.  Through  a  rift  in  that  ter- 
rible curtain  he  heard  her  utter  the  name  of 
Jesus  and  saw  her  head  fall  forward  upon  her 
breast. 

The  Cardinal  Bishop  of  Winchester  wept, 


33 2  French  Abbeys 

and  so  did  others  of  her  judges,  crying,  "Woe 
unto  us,  we  have  killed  a  saint !"  And 
Nicolas  le  Roux,  struck  with  unavailing  re- 
morse, fled  from  the  sight,  beating  his  breast 
in  his  despair. 

He  was  rowed  in  his  barge  as  swiftly  as 
his  oarsmen,  assisted  by  the  current,  could 
convey  him  to  his  Abbey  of  Jumieges,  pur- 
chased by  his  shameful  forfeit.  At  the  land- 
ing-place, awaiting  news  from  Rouen,  was  a 
group  of  villagers,  and  among  them  the  Lady 
Agnes  on  her  white  palfrey.  She  rode  quickly 
to  the  Abbot,  crying,  "What  tidings,  my 
lord,  of  the  Maid?" 

As  she  listened  the  blood  left  her  face  and 
surged  to  it  again  in  indignation.  "And  you 
who  call  yourself  a  man  suffered  this?  And 
the  King  himself,  for  whom  Joan  gained  so 
many  victories,  lifted  no  hand  for  her  rescue! 
Then,  since  manhood  exists  no  longer,  France 
must  be  saved  by  its  women." 

With  that  word  of  scorn  she  left  him,  nor 
did  the  Abbot  see  her  again  for  many  years. 
The  manor-house  at  Mesnil-sous-Jumieges 
was  deserted,  and  it  was  said  that  its  mis- 
tress had  gone  to  friends  in  Touraine. 

Meantime  a  strange  transformation  had 
befallen  the  hitherto  indolent  and  apparently 


The  Sin  of  Abbot  Nicolas        333 

feeble-minded  King  of  France.  Under  the 
influence,  so  it  was  rumoured,  of  a  new  mis- 
tress, his  better  nature  had  awakened  and  he 
had  shown  ambition,  patriotism,  and  unsus- 
pected ability.  Taking  the  field  in  person  at 
the  siege  of  Montereau,  he  fought  in  the 
trenches  up  to  his  middle  in  water,  and  was 
the  first  to  mount  the  scaling-ladders  and 
enter  the  town,  sword  in  hand. 

Province  after-  province  was  retaken  from 
the  English,  and  in  November,  1437,  he 
made  his  triumphal  entry  into  Paris,  and  was 
hailed  as  Charles  the  Victorious.  Last  of  all, 
Rouen  surrendered  to  Dunois,  and  the  Eng- 
lish were  driven  from  Normandy. 

Charles's  first  concern  after  this  was  to  ren- 
der tardy  justice  to  the  memory  of  the  hero- 
ine to  whom  he  and  France  owed  so  much. 
Pope  Calixtus  III.  gave  his  sanction  to  the 
"process  of  rehabilitation"  which  was  begun 
at  the  Cathedral  of  Notre  Dame,  the  Arch- 
bishop of  Rheims  presiding.  But  it  was  not 
enough  that  Joan  should  be  proclaimed  a 
martyr  here ;  the  Court  was  transferred  to  the 
archiepiscopal  palace  of  Rouen,  and  in  the 
city  which  had  put  her  to  death  the  articles 
upon  which  sentence  had  been  rendered 
twenty   years    previously   were  pronounced 


334  French  Abbeys 

false  and  calumnious  and  the  process  null  and 
of  no  effect. 

It  was,  moreover,  ordained  that  a  eulogy 
should  be  delivered  in  the  cemetery  of  the 
Abbey  of  Saint  Ouen  at  the  door  of  the  Mar- 
mousets,  on  the  very  spot  where  her  act  of 
abjuration  had  been  so  shamefully  obtained, 
and  that  on  this  site  and  on  that  of  her 
martyrdom  two  crosses  should  be  erected  in 
expiation  of  the  crime  and  to  perpetuate  her 
memory. 

That  this  reparation  was  due  not  so  much 
to  Charles  VII.  as  to  the  woman  who  wakened 
him  to  wholesome  remorse  for  his  neglect 
the  burghers  of  Rouen  understood,  for  they 
spread  garlands  before  her  as  she  rode  in 
that  expiatory  procession,  and  Nicolas  le 
Roux,  the  half-crazed  Abbot  of  Jumieges, 
coming  to  his  Abbey  door  to  welcome  his 
King  who  claimed  again  his  right  of  shelter, 
started  to  recognise  in  this  ''Queen  of  the 
left  hand"  Agnes  Sorel,  the  whilom  Lady  of 
the  Manor  of  Mesnil. 

"I  saved  the  Abbey  for  you,  my  liege,"  the 
Abbot  had  murmured. 

"But  at  what  a  price!"  cried  Agnes,  and 
the  glance  of  the  Abbot  fell. 

' '  Dinner  is  preparing, ' '  he  muttered.    ' '  For- 


ABBEY  CHURCH  OF  SAINT  OUEN,  ROUEN. 
By  permission  of  Levy  et  Fils. 


■I 

L'ABBAYE  AUX  DAMES,  CAEN. 


The  Sin  of  Abbot  Nicolas         335 

give  me,  my  liege,  that  our  dolt  of  a  cook  is 
burning  the  roast.  He  always  burns  it.  The 
stench  of  scorching  flesh  pervades  the  entire 
Abbey.  It  is  not  a  perfume  for  a  king's 
nostrils.  Have  open  the  windows.  Bid  the 
altar  boys  bring  the  censers  and  sweeten  the 
apartment." 

"I  perceive  naught  but  the  pleasant  scent 
of  blossoming  lilacs,"  said  the  King. 

The  monks  looked  at  one  another  signifi- 
cantly, but  were  silent  until  the  Abbot  had 
bustled  away,  when  one  of  them  took  it  upon 
himself  to  explain. 

"So  please  your  royal  Highness,  there  is  no 
joint  upon  the  spit,  and  the  fires  are  not  yet 
lighted  upon  the  kitchen  hearth.  Our  af- 
flicted Abbot  hath  been  for  twenty  years  like 
that.  When  the  smoke  of  the  pyre  of  Joan 
of  Arc  ascended,  the  wind  drove  it  in  his  face, 
and  it  hath  never  left  his  nostrils." 

It  never  left  them  while  he  lived,  which 
was  but  a  short  space  longer,  hounded  to  his 
death  by  the  furies  of  remorse,  who  used  as 
their  scourge  not  the  fearful  sight  which  he 
had  witnessed  nor  the  heart-breaking  cries  to 
which  he  had  listened,  but  a  stranger  instru- 
ment of  torture — the  memory  of  an  odour. 

The  work  of  Agnes  Sorel  was  accomplished. 


336  French  Abbeys 

She  also  died  the  following  year  at  her  Manor 
of  Mesnil-sous- Jumieges.  Charles  VII.  placed 
her  body  in  a  magnificent  tomb  in  the  chapel 
of  the  Chateau  of  Loches.  But  she  left  her 
heart  to  the  Abbey  of  Jumieges,  and  the  in- 
scription upon  the  slab  which  covered  it  may 
be  read  to-day: 

"Cy  gist  la  noble  damoiselle  Agnes  Sourelle. 

"En  son  vivant  dame  de  Beaulte,  piteuse  entre 
toutes  gens,  et  qui  largement  donnait  de  ses  biens  aux 
eglises  et  aux  pouvres,  laquelle  trespassa  le  neuvieme 
jour  de  fevrier  Tan  de  grace  1449." 

As  the  man  in  black  concluded  his  tale  we 
could  not  forbear  a  query.  If  the  Abbot's 
punishment  existed  only  in  his  imagination 
what,  then,  was  this  very  real  odour  of  burning 
flesh  mingled  with  sulphur  which  at  present 
offended  our  senses? 

"Ah!  that,"  replied  the  stranger,  spread- 
ing his  hands,  "our  host  and  others  interested 
in  the  fair  fame  of  Jumieges  will  tell  you  is 
also  a  product  of  the  imagination;  but  we 
know  better.  We  know,"  he  repeated,  "that 
it  is  the  smoke  of  the  torment  of  the  Abbot 
Nicolas  le  Roux,  roasting  in  hell  for  ever  and 
ever!" 


CHAPTER  XV 

ABBEY  PILGRIMAGES 

Oh!  those  old  Abbey  gardens 

With  their  devices  rich, 
Their  fountains  and  green,  solemn  walls, 

And  saints  in  many  a  niche. 
I  would  I  could  call  back  again 

Those  gardens  in  their  pride, 
And  see,  slow  walking  up  and  down, 

The  Abbot  dignified. 
And  the  fat  monk  with  sleepy  eyes, 

Half  dozing  in  his  cell; 
And  him,  the  poor  lay  brother, 

That  loved  the  flowers  so  well. 
Alas !  the  Abbey  lieth  low ; 

The  Abbot's  tomb  is  bare, 
And  he,  the  Abbey -gardener, 

Is  all  forgotten  there. 

Mary  Howitt. 

I 

A  LITTLE  TOUR  IN  NORMANDY 

COR  those  who  would  go  on  pilgrimage, 
*  either  for  the  mere  joy  of  wandering  in 
pleasant  places  or  for  serious  research,  no 
more  delightful  itineraries  could  be  planned 

22 

3?7 


33%  French  Abbeys 

than  the  exploration  of  the  most  typical  and 
accessible  of  the  French  Abbeys. 

First  of  all  the  reverend  brotherhood,  step- 
ping from  the  mainland  as  though  to  meet 
and  welcome  the  trans- Atlantic  traveller,  we 
must  rank  Mont  Saint  Michel.  If  one  could 
see  but  this  example  he  would  still  have  a  fair 
conception  of  the  power  of  monasticism  in 
mediaeval  times. 

But  pre-eminent  though  it  stands,  this 
Abbey  is  not  the  first  which  the  tourist  will 
find  most  convenient  to  visit. 

If  he  disembarks  at  Cherbourg  it  will  be 
easy  to  stop  for  a  day  at  Caen,  that  old  Nor- 
man city  so  saturated  with  memories  of 
William  the  Conqueror.  Here  he  will  find 
in  excellent  preservation  the  Abbaye  aux 
Hommes  and  the  Abbaye  aux  Dames,  which 
William  and  Matilda  built  in  penance  for 
their  irregular  marriage.  It  was  Lanfranc, 
afterwards  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  who 
persuaded  the  Pope  to  grant  them  an  in- 
dulgence, who  was  first  Abbot  of  the  Abbaye 
aux  Hommes,  while  their  daughter,  Cecile, 
became  Abbess  of  the  Abbaye  aux  Dames. 
Queen  Matilda's  tomb  is  in  its  chapel,  and 
she  left  its  tresor  her  crown  and  sceptre, 
the  trappings  of   her  saddle-horses,   besides 


Abbey  Pilgrimages  339 

many  rich  vestments  and  other  objects  of 
value. 

Some  amusing  old  rites  and  customs  sub- 
sisted here  up  to  the  eve  of  the  Revolution. 
During  the  f£te  of  Sainte  Trinite  the  Abbess 
governed  the  town  and  garrison,  the  general 
in  command  reporting  to  her  for  orders.  On 
the  day  of  the  Holy  Innocents,  the  Fete  de  la 
Petite  Abbesse  was  celebrated,  a  merry  holi- 
day, in  which  an  Abbess  of  the  day  was  chosen 
from  among  the  novices,  the  real  Abbess  giv- 
ing up  her  cross  to  the  new  incumbent  and 
submitting  to  her  rule  until  midnight,  when 
the  festival  ended  in  a  dance  in  the  convent 
park. 

We  visited  the  Abbey  one  windy  evening  in 
early  spring,  and  as  we  walked  in  the  grounds 
were  startled  to  see  ghostly  forms  flitting  be- 
tween the  trees,  joining  hands  and  leaping 
wildly  as  in  some  frantic  Druidical  dance. 

"Can  it  be  the  festival  of  la  Petite  Ab- 
besse," we  asked,  "which  we  have  unwit-> 
tingly  chanced  upon?" 

But  on  nearer  approach  a  very  common- 
place explanation  was  given  of  the  weird 
phenomenon.  It  was  only  the  convent  linen 
agitated  by  the  night  breeze,  the  contortions 
of  many  flapping  sheets  striving  with  their 


34°  French  Abbeys 

fastenings  and  thus  grotesquely   simulating 
the  dance  of  the  sportive  novices. 

After  Caen  one  pauses  most  naturally  at 
Lisieux  to  enjoy  the  old  timbered  houses 
which  lean  toward  one  another  like  gossiping 
crones  whispering  their  scandals  across  the 
narrow  streets.  Here,  too,  one  must  glance 
at  the  cathedral  and  not  miss  its  beautiful 
Lady  Chapel,  the  Chapelle  Expiatoire  of 
Pierre  Cauchon,  built  in  remorse  for  his 
crime  in  the  prosecution  of  Joan  of  Arc. 
Between  Lisieux  and  Rouen  lies  the  famous 
Abbey  of  Bee,  but  its  beautiful  tower  will 
scarce  repay  the  ordinary  traveller  for  the 
inconvenience  of  its  railway  connections. 
It  is  difficult  to  go  wrong  in  Normandy,  for 
the  province  is  sown  thick  with  noble  cha- 
teaux and  quaint  old  towns,  while  its  billow- 
ing hills  are  covered  with  apple  orchards 
indescribably  beautiful  in  the  springtime. 
But,  with  the  exception  of  the  excursion  to 
Mont  Saint  Michel  and  a  pause  en  route  at 
Caen,  our  tourist  who  is  at  all  limited  in 
time  may  confine  his  first  itinerary  to  a 
driving-trip  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Rouen. 
For  the  principal  Norman  monasteries  are 
most  invitingly  grouped  around  the  ancient 
city,   and  its  magnificent    Abbey-church    of 


Abbey  Pilgrimages  341 

Saint  Ouen  makes  an  excellent  centre  and 
point  of  departure.  Its  slender  columns 
shoot  like  lily-stalks  from  the  pavement, 
framing  one  hundred  and  thirty -five  glorious 
windows,  set  so  close  together  that  from 
within  the  walls  seem  built  of  resplendent 
gems  like  those  of  the  heavenly  city — "as  it 
were  transparent  glass." 

The  cloisters,  meadows,  gardens,  and  other 
dependencies  of  Saint  Ouen  originally  ex- 
tended over  a  large  portion  of  the  present 
city. 

"When  one  thinks,"  says  Quicherat,  "that  the  vast 
edifice  which  we  call  to-day  the  hotel-de-ville,  where 
the  municipal  service  of  more  than  one  hundred 
thousand  souls  is  installed,  is  only  a  fragment  of  the 
former  Abbey,  one  comprehends  what  must  in  the 
days  of  real  faith  have  been  the  grandeur  and  power 
of  this  celebrated  house." 

So  near  to  Rouen  that  it  may  be  visited  in 
an  afternoon  is  the  once  wealthy  Abbey  of 
Saint  Georges  de  Boscherville,  founded  by 
Raoul  de  Tancarville,  chamberlain  of  William 
the  Conqueror.  Its  power  and  rank  were  at 
all  times  disproportioned  to  its  size,  for  it 
was  one  of  the  smallest  of  the  Norman  re- 
ligious communities,  never  numbering  more 


342  French  Abbeys 

than  ten  brethren.  But  the  Abbot  was  al- 
ways of  noble  birth,  and  took  his  seat  at 
great  conclaves  with  the  Abbots  who  ruled  a 
thousand  monks. 

It  has  its  romance,  a  tragedy  of  passion 
and  jealousy  and  violent  death. 

On  the  opposite  side  of  the  Seine  are  the 
ruins  of  the  castle  of  Bardouville.  Married 
to  its  savage  lord  was  an  unfortunate  lady 
who  had  loved  and  been  loved  in  vain  by  a 
certain  knight.  What  parted  them  is  of 
little  moment.  They  remained  ' '  falsely  true, ' ' 
and  the  knight,  to  be  near  his  lady,  became  the 
Abbot  of  Saint  Georges  de  Boscherville. 

Each  evening  that  the  baron  was  absent 
the  baroness  signalled  her  too  faithful  lover 
by  means  of  lights,  and  he  crossed  the  river, 
swimming  it,  so  the  legend  asserts,  like  a 
second  Leander,  until  the  rumour  of  the  torch 
which  flamed  in  his  absence  reached  the  sus- 
picious ears  of  the  husband,  and  the  gallant 
Abbot  was  slain  in  his  lady's  bower. 

The  Abbey  will  afford  a  purpose  for  a  de- 
lightful drive  from  Rouen  through  the  noble 
forest  of  Roumare;  but,  except  for  the 
archaeologist,  the  drive  will  be  found  more  en- 
joyable than  the  end  in  view,  for  the  chapter 
house  and  church  are  all  that  are  left  of  the 


Abbey  Pilgrimages  343 

monastic  buildings,  the  former  ruinous  and 
invaded  by  the  cows  of  a  neighbouring  dairy- 
farm,  and  the  decorations  which  graced  the 
interior  of  the  latter  hidden  under  barbarous 
whitewash. 

A  little  farther  to  the  west  the  Seine  makes 
a  great  sweep  to  embrace  the  still  stately 
ruins  of  the  Abbey  of  Jumieges,  which  may 
be  visited  from  Rouen  by  steam  launch  or 
by  the  circuitous  railroad. 

En  route  from  Jumieges  to  Saint  Wandrille 
one  should  not  fail  to  pause  at  Caudebec, 
famous  for  its  high  tides  and  its  exquisite 
spire,  and  for  the  most  comfortable  hostelry 
in  all  this  region.  Saint  Wandrille  will  tempt 
the  artist  to  remain  an  entire  season  and  fill 
his  portfolios,  and  the  inn  of  Caudebec  is  near 
enough  to  make  this  possible. 

From  Saint  Wandrille  the  pilgrim  should 
press  on  to  Fecamp,  whose  old  Abbey-church 
with  its  wonderful  jube  is  quite  eclipsed  by  the 
"fake"  Abbey,  which  has  proved  so  clever  an 
advertisement  of  the  liqueur  Benedictine.  The 
monks  were  expelled  at  the  time  of  the  Revo- 
lution, but  their  recipe,  it  is  pretended,  was 
handed  down  to  his  children  by  the  former 
steward  of  the  Abbey,  and  an  immense  fortune 
has  been  realised  from  its  fabrication.     An 


344  French  Abbeys 

amusing  scene  is  depicted  in  a  stained-glass 
window  of  the  mock  Abbey.  The  founder  of 
the  distillery  grasps  the  globe  with  one  plump 
hand,  while  he  extends  the  other  for  the  sa- 
cred recipe  which  is  given  him  by  an  angel! 

More  or  less  authentic  antiquities,  said  to 
have  once  graced  the  ancient  Abbey,  are  dis- 
tributed throughout  the  theatrical  building, 
which  flaunts  a  chapter  house  and  even  a 
chapel;  but  the  architect  who  created  this 
phantasmagoria  could  hardly  have  imagined 
that  the  most  naive  could  take  his  jest  seri- 
ously and  fancy  that  he  is  treading  the  halls 
of  the  veritable  monastery. 

The  legend  which  led  to  the  founding  of 
the  Abbey  of  Fecamp  affirms  that  Joseph  of 
Arimathea  finding,  after  assisting  in  the  de- 
position from  the  cross,  that  his  glove  con- 
tained some  drops  of  the  blood  of  Christ, 
concealed  it  in  a  hollow  in  a  fig-tree  which  grew 
in  his  garden  at  Sidon.  In  process  of  time 
the  tree  was  cut  down  and  with  its  hidden 
treasure  cast  into  the  sea. 

A  holy  hermit  in  Gaul  saw  this  in  a  vision, 
and  was  bidden  to  resort  to  the  seashore  and 
to  watch  for  the  fig-tree  which  would  be 
miraculously  carried  to  Normandy.  Here 
indeed  it  was  washed  ashore,  and  the  place 


RUINS  OF  ABBEY  OF  VALMONT— INTERIOR. 


Abbey  Pilgrimages  345 

where  it  was  found  was  named  Fici  campus, 
the  field  of  the  fig-tree,  and  afterwards  Fe- 
camp. The  faithful  still  devoutly  kneel  be- 
fore the  discoloured  glove  which  is  carefully 
guarded  in  a  tabernacle  of  the  old  Abbey- 
church.  I  have  other  testimony  to  its  credit, 
for  at  a  curiosity-shop  in  the  neighbourhood 
an  antique  garnet  rosary  was  offered  me,  its 
silver  crucifix  opening  by  means  of  a  tiny 
screw,  a  reliquary  for  a  drop  of  the  "sang 
precieux."  It  was  impossible  to  resist  the 
legend  as  told  me  by  the  wily  vender,  and 
the  rosary  lies  before  me  as  I  write. 

"A  pretty  story  and  a  pretty  bauble," 
commented  my  friend  the  chemist  when  I 
showed  it  to  him,  ' '  and  yet  I  would  not  hang 
those  garnets  as  an  amulet  about  a  baby's 
neck.  The  child  might  put  the  little  reliquary 
in  its  mouth. ' '— ' '  And  what  of  that  ? ' '— "  Only 
that  in  the  sixteenth  century  they  had  a 
passion  for  concealing  poisons  in  odd  places — 
in  '  an  earring,  a  fan  mount,  a  filigree  basket ' 
— and  this  pellet  which  I  have  just  taken 
from  the  little  cavity  in  the  crucifix  is — pure 
arsenic." 

In  a  lovely  valley  just  outside  the  town  of 
Fecamp  are  the  ruins  of  the  Abbey  of  Val- 
mont,  founded  by  that  d'Estouteville  of  whom 


346  French  Abbeys 

Victor  Hugo  writes  in  Notre  Dame  de  Paris. 
Of  all  the  Abbeys  which  we  sought  in  our  pil- 
grimage, this  was  the  only  one  which  we 
found  guarded  by  an  inexorable  dragon. 
True  he  belched  no  flame,  but  neither  would 
he  swallow  a  golden  bribe.  With  deplorable 
fidelity  to  his  master's  orders,  he  replied  with 
monotonous  reiteration,  "I  am  desolated  not 
to  oblige  madame,  but  what  can  I  do?  On 
ne  visit e  pas" 

Instantly  the  reputed  glories,  treasures  of 
Valmont,  its  carvings  by  Germain  Pilon,  and 
the  tombs  of  its  Abbots,  took  on  an  over- 
weening importance,  and  all  the  privileges 
which  we  had  hitherto  enjoyed  through  the 
uniform  courtesy  and  hospitality  of  other 
strangers  were  as  nothing  to  this  single 
refusal. 

Between  Rouen  and  Paris,  if  one  cares 
sufficiently  for  Richard  Coeur  de  Lion  to  visit 
his  castle  of  Gaillard,  one  may  pause  first  at 
Pont  de  l'Arche  for  the  drive  to  his  Abbey  of 
Bonport,  which  he  founded  in  1190.  The 
refectory  still  exists,  but  the  carved  choir- 
stalls  and  beautiful  glass  have  been  removed 
to  the  parish  church  of  Pont  de  l'Arche. 

There  are  remains  of  many  other  interesting 
Abbeys  in  Normandy,  but  none  which  will  so 


Abbey  Pilgrimages  347 

well    repay    a    visit    as    the    group    already 
mentioned. 

The  monastery  of  La  Trappe  recalls  a 
romance  unparalleled  in  fiction,  but  at  the 
time  of  its  founding  this  Abbey  sought  for  the 
most  inaccessible  spot  in  southern  Normandy. 
Such  it  remains  to-day,  for  the  railroads 
avoid  its  solitude  and  few  admirers  of  the 
Abbe  de  Ranee  will  brave  the  inconveniences 
of  the  journey  to  discover  the  austere  retreat 
rendered  famous  by  his  long  penance.  An- 
other building  as  intimately  connected  with 
his  tragic  history  attracts  the  attention  of 
every  traveller  who  approaches  Loches  from 
the  city  of  Tours,  and  stands  as  a  significant 
illustration  to  the  pitiable  story. 

II 

THE  STRANGE  STORY  OF  THE  ABBE  DE  RANCE 

Tout  Chartreux  est  un  volcan  eteint 

Guadet. 

And  the  sulphurous  rifts  of  passion  and  woe 
Lie  deep  'neath  a  silence  pure  and  smooth, 
Like  burnt-out  craters  healed  with  snow. 

Lowell. 

Sinister  and  formidable  even  in  its  ruin 
the  donjon  keep  of  Montbazon  is  pointed  out 


34^  French  Abbeys 

as  one  of  the  earliest  feudal  castles  of  Touraine, 
built  by  Foulques  Nerra  to  protect  his  terri- 
tory from  the  Counts  of  Blois. 

On  the  summit  of  the  ancient  tower  there 
has  been  erected  a  colossal  image  of  the  Vir- 
gin, for  it  is  now  a  shrine  of  pilgrimage,  and 
humble  penitents  kneel  amid  the  ruins  be- 
seeching Our  Lady  of  Pity  to  save  their  sons 
from  such  a  temptress,  and  their  daughters 
from  the  guilt  and  the  fate  of  the  wicked 
Duchess  of  Montbazon.  It  was  close  at 
hand  in  her  favourite  bower,  the  dainty 
manor-house  of  Couzieres,  that  she  met  and 
loved  the  Abbe  de  Ranee  and  paid  the  penalty 
of  her  guilt. 

The  Abbe  possessed  the  neighbouring  seig- 
nory  of  Veretz,  and  had  built  himself  a  her- 
mitage in  the  great  game -abounding  forest. 
Let  no  one,  deceived  by  the  word,  picture  a 
rocky  cell  beside  a  rill  of  clear-flowing  water, 
for  the  "hermitage"  was  a  chdteau  de 
chasse,  with  stables  and  kennels,  and  later 
Ranee  sold  the  estate  for  the  equivalent  of  a 
hundred  thousand  dollars.  He  had  inherited 
it  from  his  mother,  his  clerical  duties  at  the 
Chateau  of  Blois  were  merely  nominal,  and 
he  spent  much  of  his  time  in  hunting  at 
Veretz. 


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Abbey  Pilgrimages  349 

Armand  Jean  Le  Bouthillier  de  Ranee*  was 
such  a  man  at  this  time  as  Browning  describes 
in  Caponsacchi: 

"A  courtly,  spiritual  cupid, 
And  fit  companion  for  the  like  of  you — 
You  gay  Abati  with  the  well-turned  legs 
And  rose  i'  the  hat-rim,  canon's  cross  at  neck, 
And  silk-mask  in  the  pocket  of  the  gown." 

And  yet  his  was  not  a  gross  nature.  A 
precocious  scholar,  he  published  at  twelve  a 
translation  of  the  odes  of  Anacreon,  and  in 
taking  his  degrees  excelled  his  classmate 
Bossuet.  Named  for  Richelieu,  it  was  ex- 
pected that  his  godfather's  influence  would 
be  enlisted  in  his  behalf,  but  the  cardinal  died 
and  he  had  not  been  appointed  to  the  bishop- 
ric, which  he  expected. 

So  Ranee,  with  no  great  career  to  tempt 
his  powers,  lived  a  life  of  idle  elegance  and 
refinement  until  he  met  the  Duchesse  de 
Montbazon. 

Fifty -two  years  younger  than  her  husband, 
mad  for  admiration  and  an  adept  in  the  arts 
of  acquiring  it,  she  seemed  to  the  young  man 
the  embodiment  of  all  feminine  perfection. 
She  found  his  adoration  amusing  in  that  un- 
eventful cMteau  life,  for  she  was  a  woman 


35°  French  Abbeys 

who  could  not  forbear  from  ruining  any  man 
of  attractive  personality  who  came  within  her 
power.  But  the  death  of  her  husband,  Duke 
Hercules  de  Montbazon,  was  to  give  her  a 
wider  field,  and  the  duchess  at  once  estab- 
lished herself  at  Paris,  creating  continual 
scandals  at  the  very  formal  Court,  where  she 
took  an  insane  delight  in  violating  etiquette. 
The  Cardinal  de  Retz  wrote  of  her :  "  Madame 
de  Montbazon  was  very  beautiful,  but  modesty 
was  wanting  to  her  attractions.  I  never  saw 
any  one,  even  in  vice,  who  had  preserved  so 
little  respect  for  virtue."  Such  audacity  was 
at  least  piquant,  and  very  soon  she  had  more 
lovers  and  was  involved  in  more  mischief 
than  any  other  woman  in  Paris. 

Into  this  dissolute,  reckless  life  the  Abbe  de 
Ranee  followed  the  duchess.  His  father  had 
died  and  his  revenues,  greatly  increased,  en- 
abled him  to  cut  a  figure  as  a  man  of  fashion. 
He  maintained  a  train  of  servants  and  eight 
coach  horses.  While  in  ecclesiastical  society 
he  dressed  in  black  velvet,  at  the  soirees  of 
the  duchess  he  appeared  in  heliotrope  or 
violet  brocade,  set  off  with  costly  laces  and 
great  emeralds. 

The  Abbe  had  a  rival  in  the  Duke  of  Beau- 
fort, one  of  the  leaders  of  the  Fronde,  and  it 


Abbey  Pilgrimages  35 I 

was  to  advance  his  interests  that  the  Duch- 
ess of  Montbazon  threw  herself  into  that 
conspiracy. 

Vain,  shallow,  and  selfish,  he  had  still  the 
make-up  of  a  stage  hero,  with  the  art  of  in- 
gratiating himself  with  the  populace  and 
the  perception  to  recognise  their  power.  He 
was  called  le  Roi  des  Holies  (King  of  the 
Markets),  and  the  terrible  fishwives  whose 
descendants  were  to  drag  Louis  XVI.  and 
Marie  Antoinette  from  Versailles,  worshipped 
him  as  the  champion  of  their  interests  because 
he  resided  in  their  quarter  and  harangued 
them  in  their  argot.  But  Mazarin's  spies 
kept  him  informed  of  Beaufort's  incendiary 
speeches  and  of  the  plots  at  the  salons  of 
Madame  de  Montbazon,  and  using  as  a  pre- 
text a  notorious  duel  which  that  agitating 
lady  had  incited,  he  banished  her  to  her 
estates  in  Touraine. 

The  Duke  of  Beaufort  was  too  great  a 
favourite  with  the  people  to  be  dealt  with 
openly,  and  too  dangerous  and  treacherous 
a  man  to  be  permitted  to  remain  in  France. 
The  cardinal  cleverly  gave  him  an  appoint- 
ment which  was  virtual  banishment  and 
possible  condemnation  to  death,  making  him 
admiral  of  the  French  fleet  which  sailed  in 


35 2  French  Abbeys 

1669  with  seven  thousand  troops  for  the  re- 
lief of  the  Venetians  beseiged  in  Candia  by 
the  Turks.  The  night  of  the  landing,  when 
the  French  forces  attempted  to  cut  their 
way  through  the  infidels,  Beaufort  disap- 
peared in  the  m&lee,  probably  one  of  the  un- 
numbered dead  left  upon  the  field  by  that 
frightful  slaughter.  But  the  women  of  the 
halles  could  never  be  persuaded  that  their 
leader  was  dead.  For  years  they  had  masses 
said — not  for  the  repose  of  his  soul,  but  for 
his  return,  believing  that  he  had  been  spirited 
away  from  the  field  by  the  agents  of  Mazarin.1 

The  affection  of  the  Duchess  of  Montbazon 
was  not  so  constant  as  that  of  the  ignorant 
fishwives.  Even  before  the  Duke  of  Beau- 
fort sailed  he  was  dead  to  her  and  from  the 
list  of  her  lovers  she  elected  that  the  Abbe 
de  Ranee  should  supply  his  place.  He  had 
loved  her  without  hope  in  her  prosperity  and 
would  not  desert  her  now. 

The  management  of  his  estate  of  Veretz 
gave  the  excuse  for  long  rides  and  for  secret 
interviews,  until  swift  and  terrible  retribu- 
tion fell  upon  them  from  the  hand  of  God. 

1  Some  authorities  take  this  view  and  maintain  that  he 
was  confined  in  the  fortress  of  Pignerol,  being  none  other  than 
the  prisoner  known  as  the  Man  in  the  Iron  Mask. 


Abbey  Pilgrimages  353 

The  Abbe  had  come  one  day  to  his  tryst  at 
the  manor,  and  had  tripped  jauntily  up  the 
secret  staircase  to  his  lady's  boudoir.  She 
was  not  there,  but  a  great  silver  chafing-dish, 
from  which  she  had  often  regaled  him  with 
some  dainty  prepared  by  her  own  fair  hands, 
stood  as  though  waiting  for  him  upon  the 
table.  He  raised  the  cover,  and  to  his  horror 
was  confronted  by  the  dissevered  head  of  his 
mistress,  the  fair  locks  sodden  with  blood, 
forming  a  gory  frame  for  features  distorted 
by  the  death-agony.  Ranee's  reason  forsook 
him  at  the  fearful  sight.  Grasping  the  dish 
he  fled  demented  with  it  into  the  forest,  and 
wandered,  how  long  and  where  he  never  knew. 

It  seemed  to  him  that  he  had  ventured  into 
hell  in  search  of  his  murdered  love  and  was 
fleeing  through  floods  of  flame  with  her  corpse 
tightly  clasped  against  his  heart,  and  that 
ghastly  face  close  to  his  own. 

When  at  last  he  came  to  himself  he  was  in 
the  ruined  donjon  of  Montbazon.  Was  it  all 
a  hideous  dream  and  would  he  hear  her  ring- 
ing laugh  in  a  moment  ?  He  raised  his  hands 
to  his  head  and  saw  that  his  lace  ruffles  were 
dabbled  with  dark  spots,  and  at  the  same  time 
an  odd  metallic  sound,  like  the  tinkling  of  a 
tiny  bell   sounded  behind  him.     The  great 


354  French  Abbeys 

tower  was  roofless,  an  ivy -lined  wall  in  which 
rooks  built  their  nests.  They  were  circling 
and  cawing  as  though  in  response  to  the  call 
of  that  weird  bell,  and  turning  he  saw  upon  a 
heap  of  debris  the  silver  vessel,  against  whose 
cover  an  enormous  raven  was  striking  his 
hard  beak.  Driving  away  the  bird,  but  un- 
able to  look  again  upon  that  terrible  face,  he 
buried  the  dish  and  its  contents  beneath  a  pile 
of  stones,  and  kneeling  in  the  solitude  repeated 
over  it  the  service  for  the  dead. 

From  that  day  the  Abbe  Ranee  was  a 
changed  man.  It  was  not  enough  to  devote 
himself  henceforth  to  the  duties  of  his  sacred 
calling.  Conscience  made  terrible  reclama- 
tions, and  as  his  sin  had  been  great  so  he  set 
himself  no  ordinary,  easy  penance. 

Among  his  many  benefices  he  possessed  the 
charge  of  the  monastery  of  La  Trappe  in  Nor- 
mandy. In  a  bleak  situation,  without  en- 
dowment, the  monks  had  deserted  its  cloisters ; 
only  seven  remained  in  the  ruinous  building, 
and  these  were  unworthy  of  their  order, 
poaching  the  fallow  deer,  feasting  on  fast 
days,  drinking  and  gaming  in  the  refectory, 
and  sharing  their  evil  pleasures  with  aban- 
doned women,  as  though  the  devil  himself 
were  their  prior.     Ranc6  formed  the  design 


Abbey  Pilgrimages  355 

of  reforming  the  entire  order  of  the  Citeaux, 
and  made  a  journey  to  Rome  to  obtain  the 
Pope's  sanction;  but  the  pontiff  was  not  in 
sympathy  with  this  new  Savonarola  and  gave 
him  no  authority  beyond  his  own  community  of 
La  Trappe.  Unshaken  in  his  determination,  he 
returned  to  France  and  sold  his  possessions,  en- 
dowing two  hospitals  in  Paris.  He  then  retired 
to  the  poverty  and  solitude  of  his  monastery, 
reviving  the  strict  rule  of  Saint  Bernard  with 
long  vigils,  rigorous  fasts,  exhausting  labour, 
flagellation,  eternal  silence,  and  the  daily 
digging  of  his  grave  with  his  own  hands.  For 
thirty-seven  years  he  endured  this  living 
death,  and  other  repentant  sinners  flocked  to 
share  his  self -crucifixion,  so  that  whereas  he 
had  found  but  seven  reprobates  in  the  convent, 
he  left  in  it  at  his  death  one  hundred  and 
ninety-seven  true  penitents.  It  was  remorse 
and  the  fear  of  judgment  to  come  which  had 
driven  them  from  the  world  and  was  ever 
present  with  their  founder  as  he  knelt  in  his 
cell  before  a  ghastly  skull,  said  to  be  that  of 
the  woman  whom  he  had  loved,  for  the  peace 
of  whose  soul  he  prayed  continually,  and 
whose  evil  name,  in  spite  of  his  life  of  ex- 
piation, will  ever  be  linked  with  his  own. 
(See  Note  A.) 


356  French  Abbeys 

The  Abbe's  romance  was  well  known  and 
had  much  to  do  with  giving  La  Trappe  its 
vogue,  but  in  the  following  century,  as  the 
sentimental  interest  in  the  Abbey  increased, 
the  desire  of  actually  following  Ranee's  ex- 
ample diminished. 

When  Dorat  wrote  his  poem  of  La  Trappe, 
based  on  the  romantic  history  of  the  Comte 
de  Comminges,  as  related  by  Madame  de 
Tencin,  it  was  as  a  protest  against  the  rigours 
of  the  old  faith,  and  though  an  anti-climax 
to  the  tragedy  of  de  Ranee,  the  trifle  is 
significant  of  the  current  of  opinion.  The 
plot  of  the  poem  is  briefly  as  follows : 

The  Comte  de  Comminges  loves  Adelaide, 
daughter  of  the  Marquis  de  Lussan,  who 
returns  his  affection,  but  through  misun- 
derstanding is  married  to  the  Marquis  de 
Benavides. 

Comminges  in  despair  becomes  a  monk  of 
La  Trappe. 

Adelaide  learning  this,  not  with  any  in- 
tention of  intrigue  but  simply  to  be  near  her 
beloved,  disguises  herself  as  a  man,  and  also 
taking  the  vows,  becomes  an  inmate  of  the 
same  monastery.  Her  identity  is  unknown 
even  to  her  lover,  who  remarks  only  (so  he  is 
supposed  to  write  his  mother)  the  sympathy 


Abbey  Pilgrimages  357 

written  in  the  face  of  a  young  novice  by  whom 
he  is  continually  followed. 

One  day,  while  digging  his  own  grave,  the 
count  pauses  and  traces  in  the  sand  with  his 
spade  the  name  of  Adelaide. 

He  hears  sobs  and  at  last  recognises  his 
lady. 

After  this  there  is  nothing  in  honour  for  the 
lovelorn  count  to  do  but  to  die,  a  perform- 
ance which  he  accomplishes  with  despatch 
and  due  deference  to  dramatic  effect. 

The  poem  is  thoroughly  artificial  in  its 
sentimentality.  It  is  difficult  to  believe  that 
tears  were  shed  on  the  following  lines : 

"  Au  bord  d'un  lac  tranquille 
Je  travaillois  un  soir  a  mon  dernier  asyle, 
Je  creusois  mon  cercueil,  en  moi  meme  absorbe 
Je  restais  quel  que  terns  sur  ma  beche  courbe\ 
Ma  main,  dans  ce  moment,  incertaine  timide, 
Sur  le  sable  imprima  le  nom  d Adelaide." 

The  lackadaisical  pose  of  the  count  in 
Eisen's  dainty  engraving,  his  petticoats  draped 
like  a  ballet-dancer's,  provokes  in  our  day 
amusement  rather  than  sympathy. 

We  have  drifted  still  further  down  the 
stream,  and  the  conclusion  of  the  poem  seems 
to  us  trite  and  banal,  but  we  forget  that  at 
the  time  it  may  have  taken  some  courage  to 


358  French  Abbeys 

have  enunciated  it  in  the  face  of  the  example 
and  doctrine  of  La  Trappe : 

"Ce  Dieu  que  Ton  peint  de  ses  foudres  arme* 
Est  tin  Dieu  bienfaisant,  qui  veut  etre  aime* 
Deja  s'ouvre  a  tes  yeux  l'eternite'  brillante, 
Adore  et  sers  un  Dieu  qui  le  rend  ton  Amant." 


Ill 

IN  EASTERN  FRANCE 

This  fortification 
Grew  from  the  ruins  of  an  ancient  Abbey. 

I  do  love  these  ancient  ruins. 
We  never  tread  upon  them  but  we  set 
Our  foot  upon  some  reverend  history ; 
And,  questionless,  here  in  this  open  court 
Which  now  lies  naked  to  the  injuries 
Of  stormy  weather,  some  men  lie  interred, 
Loved  the  Church  so  well,  and  gave  so  largely  to  it, 
They  thought  it  should  have  canopied  their  bones 
Till  doom's  day;  but  all  things  have  their  end; 
Churches  and  Abbeys,  which  have  diseases  like  to 

men, 
Must  have  like  death  that  we  have. 

John  Webster  in  The  Duchess  of  Malfi. 

The  little  tour  in  Normandy  which  we 
have  outlined  needs  no  previous  preparation 
of   deep   scholastic  research  to   make   it   of 


Abbey  Pilgrimages  359 

interest  to  the  tourist.  The  charm  of  the 
mere  picturesque  aspect  of  the  ruins  of 
Jumieges  and  Saint  Wandrille  will  win  any 
heart,  however  indifferent.  The  beauty  of 
Saint  Ouen  and  the  grandeur  of  Mont  Saint 
Michel  are  equally  impressive,  but  a  pilgrim- 
age in  the  east  of  France  is  more  particularly 
recommended  to  those  who  know  beforehand 
what  they  seek  and  where  to  find  their 
peculiar  predilection,  for  in  the  feast  which 
is  spread  from  Lorraine  to  the  Mediterranean 
there  are  delicacies  to  suit  every  taste. 

The  wild  beauty  of  the  Desert  of  La  Grande 
Chartreuse  and  the  loveliness  of  the  Abbey 
of  Hautcombe  on  the  blue  lake  of  Le  Bourget 
in  Savoy,  the  savage  grandeur  of  La  Chaise 
Dieu,  and  the  spectacular  picturesqueness  of 
Le  Puy  in  Auvergne,  will  best  please  the 
artist,  while  the  architect  will  find  more 
satisfying  the  exquisite  Gothic  church  of 
Brou  and  the  Romanesque  buildings  of  the 
Rhone  Valley,  especially  in  the  neighbour- 
hood of  Avignon  and  Aries.  The  historical 
student  will  delight  in  less  pictorial  scenes, 
each  crumbling  wall  of  Languedoc  and  Bur- 
gundy affording  illustration  to  many  a  fa- 
miliar page  and  stimulating  both  memory 
and  imagination. 


36°  French  Abbeys 

The  limitations  of  the  present  volume  will 
not  permit  of  even  a  cursory  survey  of  the 
field:  its  aim  is  but  to  suggest  more  serious 
study  and  thorough  exploration. 

Among  the  hundreds  of  statues  of  the 
Abbey  of  Hautecombe,  where  sleep  the  princes 
and  princesses  of  Savoy,  the  sculptured  faces 
of  Yolande,  of  Aloise,  of  Sibylle,  and  of 
Bonne  will  set  the  poet's  fancy  dreaming  "in 
praise  of  ladies  dead." 

The  monks  who  drop  upon  their  knees  be- 
side these  marble  tombs,  protected  by  in- 
ternational treaty  even  at  this  writing  (1905) 
in  their  vows  of  perpetual  prayer  for  the  souls 
of  the  departed,  are  among  the  very  few 
whom  he  will  find  in  their  old  accustomed 
haunts. 

The  ancient  fortified  Abbey  of  "The  Seat 
of  God"  will  justify  its  name  from  its  mount- 
ain throne,  at  whose  foot  the  humbler  edifices 
of  the  little  town  seem  to  kneel  in  homage. 
Its  donjon-keep  proclaims  the  struggles  of 
its  Abbots  with  the  rapacious  neighbouring 
seigneurs,  and,  like  many  an  old  commandery 
of  the  religious  military  orders,  still  seems  to 
chant  its  "Benedictus  Deus  mens  qui  docet 
manas  meas  ad  proelium  et  digitos  meos  ad 
helium." 


Abbey  Pilgrimages  361 

This  Abbey  of  La  Chaise  Dieu  was  prison 
as  well  as  fortress ;  its  aspect  of  bleak  austerity 
and  loneliness  well  explains  the  feeling  of  its 
Commendatory  Abbot,  Cardinal  de  Rohan, 
prince  and  peer  of  the  realm,  who  is  reported 
to  have  said  scornfully:  "I  have,  as  you  say, 
an  old  Abbey  somewhere  in  the  mountains  of 
Auvergne,  just  where,  I  do  not  quite  know;  I 
do  know,  however,  that  it  possesses  an  entire 
county  which  yields  me  a  very  fair  income, 
and  while  there  are  pretty  women  at  Court 
be  assured  that  this  is  all  I  ask  of  it." 

This  assertion  is  supposed  to  have  been 
made  a  few  months  before  the  scandal  of  the 
diamond  necklace  flamed  forth,  when  the 
dissolute  prelate,  who  dared  to  insult  Marie 
Antoinette,  was  banished  to  La  Chaise  Dieu 
as  to  perpetual  imprisonment. 

The  city  of  Avignon,  with  its  papal  palace, 
which  Froissart  called  la  plus  forte  et  la  plus 
belle  maison  en  France,  will  furnish  another 
mine  of  treasure  in  its  souvenirs  of  the  French 
pontiffs.  Vaucluse,  with  Petrarch  and  Laura, 
is  close  at  hand,  while  across  the  river, 
partly  spanned  by  the  broken  bridge,  is  the 
ancient  Chartreuse,  an  Abbey  invaded  by  a 
colony  of  gypsies,  whose  donkeys  are  stabled 
in  the  chapel. 


362  French  Abbeys 

The  Bridge  of  Saint  Nicolas  suggests  an 
entire  chapter  on  the  Freres  Pontifes  (Pont 
if  ex,  bridge-builder),  who  banded  themselves 
together  "to  build  churches  and  hospices 
along  the  routes,  to  render  roads  practicable, 
and  particularly  to  construct  bridges  over 
rivers.,,  This  confrerie  was  bound  by  the 
vow  of  obedience,  in  that  they  must  assemble 
when  called,  and  by  poverty,  in  receiving  no 
recompense  for  their  labours,  but  they  were 
allowed  to  marry  and  to  return  to  their 
homes  when  their  services  were  not  required. 
They  spread  all  over  Europe,  their  special  aim 
being  to  make  easy  the  pilgrimage  to  the 
Holy  Land.  Their  most  celebrated  bridge 
over  the  Rhone,  the  Pont  Saint  Esprit,  was 
finished  in  1307,  and  still  exists.  It  is  eight 
hundred  metres  in  length,  with  twenty  great 
arches,  each  twenty  metres  in  span.  There 
are  bastides  at  each  end,  and  anciently  there 
were  two  towers  in  the  middle,  in  one  of 
which  was  placed  an  altar  to  Saint  Nicolas, 
the  patron  of  all  ferries  and  bridges.  These 
towers  were  removed  in  1850,  as  the  naviga- 
tion of  the  river  demanded  that  the  two 
central  arches  should  be  replaced  by  a  great 
iron  one.  The  hospice  built  here  for  pilgrims 
became    the    headquarters    of   the    Order,  a 


Abbey  Pilgrimages  363 

CiU  hospitaliere,  with  a  special  quarter  quaran- 
tined for  the  pest,  and  an  atelier  for  instruction 
in  the  mechanic  arts. 

The  devout  Catholic  will  find  in  the  south 
of  France  shrines  of  pilgrimage  hallowed  by 
association  with  the  greatest  saints  of  the 
calendar.  Not  alone  French  saints,  such  as 
Bruno,  who  founded  La  Grande  Chartreuse 
in  1084,  and  Bernard  of  Clairvaux,  but  others 
whom  we  are  accustomed  to  associate  with 
Italy, — Saint  Francis  of  Assisi,  whose  foot- 
steps we  have  traced  in  the  neighbourhood  of 
Aries ;  Saint  Dominic,  ' '  Defender  of  the  Faith, ' ' 
whose  mistaken  zeal  led  the  crusade  against 
the  Albigenses,  but  is  lovingly  remembered  in 
Toulouse  as  having  there  received  the  vision 
of  the  Virgin  that  inspired  the  institution  of 
the  rosary,  which  has  guided  the  devotions  of 
millions  of  fervent  souls. 

Saint  Anthony  is  claimed  at  picturesque 
Le  Puy,  at  the  Abbey  of  Fontefroide  (be- 
loved by  Viollet  le  Due)  near  Narbonne,  and 
in  the  neighbourhood  of  Limoges.  Here,  as 
in  Portugal,  he  provides  good  husbands  for 
maidens  who  on  his  fite  place  lighted  candles 
at  his  shrine,  and  those  destined  to  an  early 
grave  he  betroths  to  himself,  appearing  to 
them  in  person. 


364  French  Abbeys 

Indeed  France  is  as  jealous  of  Italy  as  is 
the  good  saint's  native  country,  Portugal, 
where  among  many  souvenirs  of  his  youth 
and  early  manhood  the  following  curious 
certificate  of  his  military  service  is  treasured: 

"I  attest  and  certify" — (wrote  Don  Hercules  An- 
tonio Charles  Luiz  Joseph  Maria  de  Albuquerque 
Aranjo  de  Magalhaens  Homen,  nobleman,  knight, 
etc.,  etc.) — "that  the  Lord  Saint  Antonio,  otherwise 
the  great  Saint  Antonio  of  Lisbon  (commonly  and 
falsely  called  of  Padua)  has  been  enlisted  in  this  regi- 
ment since  the  24th  of  January,  1268.  The  said 
Saint  Antonio  gave  for  his  caution  and  surety  the 
Queen  of  Angels,  who  became  answerable  that  he 
would  not  desert  his  colours,  but  behave  always  like 
a  good  soldier.     .     .     . 

"  I  do  further  certify  that  there  is  no  record  of  bad 
behaviour  committed  by  him  nor  of  his  having  ever 
been  flogged  or  in  any  way  punished  while  a  private 
in  his  regiment,  and  that  in  every  respect  he  has 
always  behaved  like  a  gentleman,  and  on  all  the 
above  mentioned  accounts  I  hold  him  most  deserving 
of  the  rank  of  major  to  our  regiment.  In  testimony 
whereof  I  have  hereto  signed  my  name  this  25th  day 
of  March  of  the  year  of  our  Lord  1277. 

"Magalhaens  Homen." 

If  our  pilgrim  is  a  historian  and  would 
touch  the  very  foundation  of  the  Abbey  in- 
stitution, he  must  go  to  Italy,  for  it  was 


Abbey  Pilgrimages  365 

Saint  Benedict  who  in  the  year  528  organised 
the  hermit  monks  into  a  convent  (corpora- 
tion) on  Mont  Cassin,  thus  creating  the  Order 
of  the  Benedictines,  who  were  to  evangelise 
and  educate  Europe. 

So  early  as  543,  however,  Saint  Benedict's 
disciple,  Saint  Maure,  with  four  companions, 
introduced  the  rule  into  France,  founding  the 
Abbey  of  Saint  Maure  sur  Loire,  near  the 
city  of  Tours. 

The  Comte  de  Montalembert,  in  his  Monks 
of  the  West,  shows  us  the  wonderful  work  of 
monasticism  up  to  the  birth  of  Bernard  (1091). 
The  eleventh  century  was  one  of  miracle, 
and  it  is  here  that  the  author  has  chosen  to 
bsgin  her  study  of  the  Abbeys.  For  the  year 
1000  a.d.  had  been  anticipated  as  the  mil- 
lenium,  the  end  of  the  world,  and  the  Dies 
Ira,  written  by  a  pious  monk,  represented  its 
expectation. 

Robert  the  Pious  was  King  of  France  and 
his  conscience  was  not  at  peace,  for  he  had 
wedded  in  defiance  of  the  Church.  In  terror 
of  its  excommunication  he  gave  up  his  wife 
and  as  Michelet  wrote,  his  obedience  seemed 
to  the  nation  to  have  disarmed  the  divine 
anger  and  to  have  brought  in  the  peace  of 
God.     When  the   eleventh  century   dawned 


366  French  Abbeys 

and  the  heavens  and  earth  shrivelled  not 
in  flame,  the  nation  as  well  as  the  monarch 
seemed,  in  thankfulness,  to  have  entered  upon 
a  new  life.  From  this  point  it  is  to  the 
dominant  Abbey  of  Cluny  that  we  must  look 
for  the  history  of  the  first  century  of  this 
great  revival.  Other  Abbeys  may  be  dis- 
missed with  a  word,  or  altogether  ignored, 
but  it  is  impossible  to  understand  the  insti- 
tution of  monasticism  in  France  without  a 
knowledge  of  the  history  of  the  great  house 
which  was  its  very  heart. 

IV 

THE  ABBEY  OF  CLUNY 

O  happy  harbour  of  God's  saints, 

O  sweet  and  pleasant  soil, 
In  thee  no  sorrow  may  be  found, 

No  grief,  no  care,  no  toil. 

Thy  gardens  and  thy  gallant  walks 

Continually  are  green; 
There  grow  such  sweet  and  pleasant  plants 

As  nowhere  else  are  seen. 

Bernard  of  Cluny. 

Phenomenal  indeed  was  the  growth  of  this 
wonderful  Abbey  from  the  year  909,  when 
the  Duke  of  Aquitaine  founded  it  by  donating 


Abbey  Pilgrimages  367 

the  fief  of  Cltmy  to  twelve  Benedictine  monks. 
His  will,  with  its  naive  statements  of  his 
motives  in  making  the  gift,  is  a  curious  docu- 
ment, illustrative  of  the  temper  of  mind  of  the 
time. 

"I,  William,  Count  and  Duke,  and  Ingelberge  my 
wife,  have  thought  it  well  to  dispose  for  the  profit  of 
my  soul  of  some  of  my  riches.  I  can  not  do  better 
in  this  regard  than  to  follow  the  precept  of  our  Lord 
and  make  to  myself  friends  among  the  poor,  by  pro- 
longing perpetually  my  benefits  to  monks  whom  I 
shall  nourish,  hoping  that  if  I  do  not  myself  suffi- 
ciently despise  the  things  of  this  world,  I  may  still 
receive  the  recompense  of  the  just,  since  the  monks 
contemners  of  the  world  shall  receive  of  my  liberality. 

"This  is  why  I  give  and  bequeath  to  the  holy 
apostles  Peter  and  Paul  all  that  I  possess  at  Cluny — 
to  wit,  the  chapel,  the  farms,  slaves  of  both  sexes, 
vineyards,  fields,  forests,  waters,  and  mills  without 
reserve. 

11 1  give  these  things  to  the  said  apostles,  I,  William, 
and  my  wife  Ingelberge,  for  the  safety  of  our  souls  and 
those  of  all  our  relatives.  And  finally  as  we  are  united 
to  all  Christians  by  the  same  faith,  this  donation  is 
made  for  all  the  orthodox  of  the  past,  present,  and 
future. 

"We  order  that  our  donation  shall  serve  to  furnish 
a  refuge  to  the  poor,  and  that  the  monks  and  all 
things  mentioned  herein  be  under  the  domination  of 
the  Abbot  Bernon.  But  after  his  death  that  the 
monks  have  the  right  to  elect  the  master  of  their  order. 


368  French  Abbeys 

"That  they  pay  annually  for  five  years  to  Rome 
ten  golden  sous  for  the  lighting  of  the  Church  of  the 
Apostles  and  placing  themselves  thus  under  the  pro- 
tection of  the  said  apostles,  and  having  for  their  de- 
fender the  Pontiff  of  Rome,  they  build  themselves  a 
monastery  at  Cluny  in  the  measure  of  their  power 
and  knowledge. 

"We  will  also  that  Cluny  shall  be  open  each  day 
by  works  of  mercy  to  the  poor,  to  strangers,  and  to 
pilgrims. 

"It  pleases  us  to  ordain  that  from  this  day  the 
monks  of  Cluny  are  fully  affranchised  from  our  power 
and  that  of  our  family,  and  shall  never  be  subject 
either  to  the  royal  power,  or  to  the  yoke  of  any  ter- 
restrial sovereignty.  By  God  and  all  the  saints  and 
under  menace  of  the  last  judgment  I  forbid  all  secular 
princes  and  the  Pontiff  of  the  Roman  Church  him- 
self to  invade  the  possessions  of  the  servitors  of  God ; 
and  I  conjure  you,  O  holy  apostles  Peter  and  Paul, 
and  thou  pontiff  of  the  apostolic  see,  to  withold  from 
the  communion  of  the  Church  and  from  the  life  ever- 
lasting all  violators  of  my  evident  intention.  Be  de- 
fenders of  Cluny,  and  if  any  one,  my  relative  or  a 
stranger,  by  any  ruse  attempt  to  render  void  this 
testament,  may  God  remove  him  from  the  living  on 
earth,  and  his  name  from  the  book  of  life.  Let  him 
become  the  companion  of  Judas  in  the  torments  of 
damnation.  That  he  be  compelled,  moreover,  by 
earthly  law  to  pay  an  hundred  pounds  of  gold  to  the 
monks  whom  he  strives  to  attack.  And  that  this  testa- 
ament  remain  forever  inviolable  in  all  its  stipulations. 

"Done  publicly  in  the  city  of  Bourges,  etc." 


Abbey  Pilgrimages  369 

In  scarce  a  century  from  its  establishment, 
the  domination  of  Cluny  extended  over  three 
hundred  and  forty  religious  houses,  and  the 
Abbot  was  a  temporal  prince. 

Great  factories  grouped  themselves  around 
the  monastery  :  bakers,  horticulturists,  weav- 
ers, shoe -makers,  carpenters,  masons,  black- 
smiths and  cabinet-makers  perfected  their 
crafts. 

From  1089  to  1131  the  artisan  monks  built 
their  famous  church,  the  largest  in  Christen- 
dom with  the  exception  of  Saint  Peter's  at 
Rome.1  and  at  this  period  sent  out  her  build- 
ing monks  to  erect  other  Abbeys  in  the  style 
of  the  maison-mere,  not  in  France  alone,  but 
to  England,  to  Italy,  and  to  Germany  as 
well. 

The  style  in  which  they  builded  —  the 
Burgundian  Romanesque — remained  pre-emi- 
nent in  monastic  architecture  long  after  the 
Gothic  had  superseded  it  in  the  great  cathe- 
drals. It  was  derived  from  the  buildings 
erected  in  the  Rhone  Valley  by  the  Romans 
and  can  be  studied  side  by  side  with  the 
original  models.  The  barrel  vault  and  low, 
round  arches,  supported  by  columns  which 

1  The  church  was  171  metres  in  length.     Saint  Peter's  is 

183  metres,  Saint  Paul's  in  London  only  166. 
24 


37°  French  Abbeys 

appeared  to  have  been  stunted  and  some- 
times contorted  by  the  weight  of  the  super- 
structure, expressed  everlasting  durability,  a 
relentless  severity,  and  inexorable  gloom, 
which  comported  well  with  monastic  ideas. 
The  domination  of  the  hierarchy  was  as  much 
a  legacy  from  Roman  masterfulness  as  the 
architecture  of  the  basilica.  Something  of 
the  Christian  character  must,  however,  be 
grafted  on  the  classical  structure,  and  over 
the  main  doorway  there  was  always  a  rudely 
carven  representation  of  the  last  Judgment. 
The  most  terrible  of  all  we  found  at  the  Abbey 
church  of  Moissac,  where  the  imagination  of 
the  sculptor  was  allowed  the  utmost  licence 
in  depicting  the  tortures  of  the  damned. 

The  gargoyles  which  from  under  the  eaves 
spouted  water  upon  unwary  passers  it  was 
claimed  represented  evil  spirits  driven  from 
the  sacred  edifice,  but  the  devils  reappeared 
again  in  the  beautiful  cloister  and  took  pos- 
session of  the  capitals  of  the  columns.  Saint 
Bernard  alone  thought  of  satirising  these 
grotesques : 

"What,"  he  asks,  "do  these  ridiculous  monstrosi- 
ties accomplish  for  the  brothers  reading  in  the  cloister  ? 
Why  are  the  filthy  apes  there  ?  and  the  savage  lions  ? 
Why  the  monstrous  centaurs,  and  the  half -human 


CLOISTER  OF  THE  ABBEY  OF  FONTEFROiDE, 
By  permission  of  Paul  Robert. 


CLOISTER  OF  THE  ABBEY  OF  MOISSAC. 


Abbey  Pilgrimages  371 

figures?  You  may  see  there  one  body  under  many 
heads,  or  again  many  bodies  with  one  head.  On  one 
side  is  shown  the  tail  of  a  serpent  on  a  quadruped; 
on  the  other  a  quadruped's  head  on  a  fish.  There  is 
a  beast  like  a  horse  in  the  fore  part  and  a  goat  behind ; 
here  is  a  horned  animal  with  the  hinder  part  of  a 
horse. 

"  For  God's  sake,  even  if  one  is  not  ashamed  of  such 
absurdities,  why  is  he  not  distressed  at  the  cost  of 
them?" 

The  cost  in  no  way  troubled  the  Cluniac 
architects,  but  they  had  another  cause  for 
alarm.  At  the  very  moment  of  their  highest 
success  another  style,  the  ogival  or  Gothic, 
was  perfected  in  central  France  and  was 
adopted  for  the  great  cathedrals. 

It  was  impossible  that  the  superior  advan- 
tages of  the  rival  system  should  not  in  time 
be  recognised  even  at  Cluny  itself,  and  so  at 
last  the  pointed  arch  crept  into  her  chapels 
and  will  be  found  side  by  side  with  her  own 
distinctive  architecture. 

It  is  for  these  reasons  that  this  Abbey  is  the 
most  interesting  in  all  France  to  the  architect. 

And  yet  it  is  not  so  much  what  the  visitor 
can  actually  see  at  Cluny  as  what  one  can 
read  into  its  fast  -  disappearing  fragments 
which  is  so  significant.     A  sordid  provincial 


37 2  French  Abbeys 

town  has  been  allowed  to  invade  the  dead 
monastery, — to  cut  streets  through  its  church 
and  to  burrow  with  shops  many  of  its  noble 
buildings,  as  a  foul  river  might  have  eaten 
them  away  or  choked  them  with  slime.  From 
the  very  heart  of  the  Abbey,  however,  the  ig- 
noble inundation  has  been  sluiced  and  dyked 
as  from  an  island  rescued  from  the  torrent, 
and  kept  sacred  to  the  traditions  of  the  past. 

We  arrived  from  Macon  on  a  market-day; 
every  courtyard  was  filled  with  the  carts  of 
peasants,  and  down  the  narrow  streets  came 
charging  herds  of  the  great  tawny  and  white 
cattle  for  which  the  Charollais  is  famous. 
Dashing  into  doorways  we  escaped  the  hoofs 
and  horns  of  the  stampede,  but  not  from 
the  clamour  of  their  blue-bloused  masters,  who 
filled  the  only  inn  to  suffocation  and  wrangled 
over  their  strong  Burgundy.  To  what  God- 
forsaken spot  have  we  come?  was  our  first 
query,  but  it  needed  only  a  glance  at  the 
Chapel  of  Jean  de  Bourbon  and  the  Tour 
de  l'Eau  Benite  to  change  the  scoffers  to 
devotees. 

Forsaken  of  God  indeed  must  their  Abbey 
have  seemed  to  the  dazed  monks  who  saw 
the  wonderful  church  demolished  when  its 
mere  debris  fills  the  architect's  heart  with 


Abbey  Pilgrimages  373 

amazement.  Two  small  palaces  also  remain 
which  are  gems  in  their  way,  the  logis  ab- 
batiales  of  Jean  de  Bourbon  and  Jacques  d' 
Amboise,  who  built  the  Cluny  Palace  in  Paris 
as  the  city  residence  of  the  Abbots  of  Cluny. 
One  other  palace,  called  that  of  the  Pope 
Gerlase,  a  part  only  of  the  suite  of  buildings 
kept  as  guest-chambers,  exists  in  a  mutilated 
and  badly  restored  condition.  There  was 
need  for  this  extensive  provision  for  hos- 
pitality, for: 

"In  1245,"  saYs  the  ancient  chronicle,  "the  Pope 
[Innocent  IV.],  with  all  his  Court,  the  Bishop  of  Senlis 
and  his  household;  the  Bishop  of  Evreux  with  his 
retinue;  our  sovereign  lord  the  King  of  France 
[Saint  Louis],  with  his  mother,  his  brother,  his  sister, 
and  all  their  following;  the  Emperor  of  Constantin- 
ople and  his  Court;  the  son  of  the  King  of  Aragon 
with  his  suite ;  the  son  of  the  King  of  Castile  with  his ; 
and  many  other  knights  and  clergy  were  entertained 
at  the  same  time  within  the  monastery. 

"And  in  spite  of  this  great  number  of  guests  not 
one  of  its  three  hundred  monks  was  displaced  from 
his  dormitory,  refectory,  infirmary,  or  chapter  house, 
or  his  cuisine  in  any  way  changed." 

When  Napoleon  passed  through  Burgundy 
on  his  way  to  receive  at  Milan  the  iron  crown, 
he  was  met  at  Macon  by  a  deputation  of  the 


374  French  Abbeys 

municipality  of  Cluny,  who  begged  him  to 
honour  their  town  by  a  visit.  He  is  said  to 
have  replied  brusquely:  "You  have  allowed 
your  magnificent  church  to  be  sold  and  de- 
stroyed. You  are  a  horde  of  Vandals,  and 
I  shall  never  visit  Cluny." 

A  careful  examination  of  the  facts  of  his- 
tory shows  that  the  Emperor  grievously 
wronged  the  town.  It  was  against  the  pro- 
test of  the  municipality  that  the  Abbey  was 
sold  by  the  National  Government  to  some 
merchants  of  Macon.  Liberty  was  given  to 
the  purchasers  to  do  what  they  chose  with 
their  property,  and  the  beautiful  vaults  and 
arches  reared  with  such  munificence  and  de- 
votion were  blown  up  with  gunpowder  and  the 
materials  sold  for  the  basest  uses.  Seventy- 
five  blasts  were  necessary  to  overthrow  the 
Tour  des  Bisans,  the  mate  of  the  Holy  Water 
Tower  still  standing,  and  nine  days  of  mining 
before  the  facade  fell. 

The  town  still  persisted  in  its  attempt  to 
save  what  it  could.  It  possessed  meadows 
in  the  suburbs  which,  with  its  markets,  it 
exchanged  in  1801  for  a  part  of  the  Abbey. 

It  was  not  until  1865  that  the  Minister  of 
Public  Instruction  decided  to  create  a  new 
department,  that  of  Industrial  Art,  when  the 


Abbey  Pilgrimages  375 

Municipal  Council  of  Cluny  immediately  of- 
fered the  Government  the  Abbey  buildings 
and  grounds  for  its  new  school.  No  use  more 
in  harmony  with  its  original  purpose  could 
have  been  made  of  the  Abbey  which  so  greatly 
developed  the  building  arts.  To-day  the 
collections  and  ateliers  of  the  Ecole  Nationale 
des  Arts  et  des  Metiers  takes  the  place  of  the 
rude  workshops  of  the  craftsmen-monks. 

Frere  Placide  died  in  the  bitterness  of  his 
soul  when  his  masterpiece  was  broken  up,  but 
may  we  not  believe  that  the  Abbey  is  haunted 
by  a  happy  ghost  who  at  last  "sees  of  the 
travail  of  his  soul,  and  is  satisfied." 

It  must  not  be  imagined  that,  because 
Cluny  was  so  largely  a  prime  mover  in  the 
arts  and  crafts,  she  held  no  scholastic  or 
literary  rank.  While  the  Benedictines  of 
Saint  Maur  were  pre-eminent  as  historians, 
and  the  Abbey  of  Saint  Martin  of  Tours  has 
a  wider  reputation  for  the  artistry  of  its  il- 
luminations, at  the  end  of  the  eleventh  cent- 
ury Cluny  had  become  the  "capital  of  the 
intellectual  life  of  all  Europe."  Three  of  her 
monks  became  popes,  Urban  II.,  Pascal  II., 
and  in  1049  sne  sent  to  Rome  him  whom  his 
enemies  nicknamed  Hildebrand  (the  brand 
of  hell),  who,   at  first  superior  only  of  the 


376  French  Abbeys 

Monastery  of  St.  Paul  without  the  Gates,  was  to 
become  Pope  Gregory  VII.,  the  most  fearless, 
zealous,  and  most  masterful  ruler  who  ever  sat 
in  Saint  Peter's  chair.  It  was  his  ambition, 
in  great  part  realised,  to  make  the  Catholic 
Church  the  mistress  of  the  nations,  even  as 
Cluny  was  queen  of  her  dependent  priories. 

Besides  its  immense  Abbey,  Cluny  pos- 
sessed a  college  for  her  scholars  near  the 
Sorbonne  at  Paris,  where  they  could  arm 
themselves  with  the  new  methods  of  phil- 
osophy.  taught  by  Abelard,  a  college  also  at 
Dole,  and  one  at  Avignon  which  connected 
the  Abbey  intimately  with  the  papal  court. 

We  may  come  very  closely  into  touch  with 
the  schoolmen  of  Cluny  through  a  most  for- 
tunate theft,  which  preserved  from  destruc- 
tion a  large  portion  of  her  library.  At  the 
time  of  the  Revolution  an  historical  com- 
mission was  created,  charged  with  the  task 
of  selecting  from  the  archives  of  all  monas- 
teries whatever  matter  might  be  of  interest 
to  French  history,  and  some  eight  hundred 
MSS.  were  transferred  to  the  Bibliotheque 
National  at  Paris.     (See  Note  B.) 

In  the  Abbacy  of  Peter  the  Venerable  (i  1 2  2- 
11 58),  Cluny  reached  its  high-water  mark. 
She  had  achieved  power  and  distinction.    The 


Abbey  Pilgrimages  377 

Abbot  Pons,  immediately  preceding  Peter, 
carried  the  sacred  spear  at  the  head  of  the 
Christian  army  and  put  to  rout  the  Saracens 
at  Ybelin,  so  saving  Palestine.  Saint  Denis 
was  the  only  Abbey  in  France  that  could  com- 
pare with  her  in  honour,  for  the  King  of  France 
himself  did  feudal  service  at  Saint  Denis, 
from  which  he  acknowledged  to  hold  Vexin 
as  a  fief,  but  Saint  Denis  was  ranked  after 
Cluny,  whose  Abbot  disputed  with  that  of 
Monte  Cassino  in  Italy  the  title  of  Abbot  of 
Abbots. 

Affairs  of  great  political  moment  were  re- 
ferred to  the  arbitration  of  Peter  the  Vener- 
able, notably  the  treaty  between  Aragon  and 
Castile  which  restored  peace  to  Spain  and  left 
it  free  later  to  combat  the  Mohammedans. 

It  was,  however,  the  personal  character  of 
Peter  which  conferred  honour  upon  Cluny 
and  not  his  position  which  dignified  the 
man. 

Closely  allied  with  him  we  encounter  at  this 
period  two  other  equally  remarkable  Abbots 
and  schoolmen,  Saint  Bernard  and  Abelard, 
who  were  to  be  epoch  making  in  the  history 
of  the  Church  and  the  nation. 

Peter  could  comprehend  the  widely  differ- 
ent points  of  view  of  his  friends  better  than 


378  French  Abbeys 

they  could  understand  him,  and  while  they 
loved  him  they  could  neither  love  nor  under- 
stand each  other.  Bernard  was  a  mystic  as 
bigoted  as  he  was  sincere,  and  Abelard  a 
radical  and  an  agnostic.  Peter  possessed  the 
rarest,  because  the  broadest,  mind;  fervently 
devout  and  orthodox,  he  exhaled  a  sweet 
Christian  benignity.  "The  rule  of  Bene- 
dict," he  wrote  Bernard,  "is  always  subor- 
dinate to  the  law  of  charity." 

But  Bernard  could  not  agree  with  him,  and 
it  was  due  to  his  relentless  animosity  that  the 
Council  of  Sens  declared  Abelard  a  heretic. 

Peter  the  Venerable  must  have  believed 
that  Abelard's  views  were  strangely  warped, 
but  he  respected  him  as  honest,  and  when 
trouble  fell  upon  him  dared  to  open  the  doors 
of  Cluny  to  him  as  an  asylum. 

The  student  who  would  follow  Abelard's 
footsteps  from  the  beginning  to  the  end  of 
his  checkered  career  will  seek  for  his  first 
traces  in  Brittany  in  the  remains  of  the  cele- 
brated Abbey  of  Saint  Gildas  de  Rhuys. 

"In  the  diocese  of  Vannes 
On  the  grey  rocks  of  Morbihan 
The  very  sea-shore  where 
In  his  great  despair 
Abbot  Abelard  walked  to  and  fro. 


Abbey  Pilgrimages  379 

Whilst  overhead 

The  convent  windows  gleamed  as  red 

As  the  fiery  eyes  of  the  monks  within, 

Who  with  jovial  din 

Gave  themselves  up  to  all  kinds  of  sin." 

The  region  in  midsummer  will  well  repay  a 
visit,  for  on  the  26th  of  July  at  the  neighbour- 
ing Sainte  Anne  d'Auray  is  held  the  most  in- 
teresting of  the  "Pardons,"  a  festival  half 
religious  pilgrimage  and  half  popular  f&te, 
which  attracts  the  Brittany  peasantry  in  all 
the  glory  of  their  holiday  costumes. 

The  old  Castle  of  Sucinio,  with  whose  lord 
Abelard  was  embroiled,  still  gives  a  vivid 
picture  of  feudal  times;  but  with  the  excep- 
tion of  its  chapel,  which  is  now  the  parish 
church,  there  is  scarcely  a  trace  of  the  monas- 
tery of  which  Longfellow  wrote. 

There  is  still  less  to  remind  one  of  Abelard 
at  Paraclete,  the  Abbey  built  for  him  by  his 
students,  and  which  he  later  gave  to  Heloise 
as  a  retreat  for  the  community  of  nuns  of 
whom  she  was  the  adored  Abbess. 

But  it  is  here  at  Cluny,  walking  in  the 
still  beautiful  garden  of  the  friendly  Abbot, 
that  we  have  the  clearest  vision  of  that 
storm-tossed  man.  It  was  here  that  he  must 
have  written  for  her  the  touching  hymn,  At 


380  French  Abbeys 

Vespers.  Its  internal  evidence,  not  alone  the 
reference  to  Bernard  of  Cluny's  Jerusalem, 
but  the  weariness,  the  disappointment,  suffer- 
ing, and  repentance,  all  calmed  at  last  in  per- 
fect peace,  could  have  found  its  experience  in 
no  other  place.1 

When,  a  little  later  (April  21,1142),  Abelard 
died,  Peter  the  Venerable,  loyal  to  the  last, 
wrote  to  Heloise:  "Thus  the  man  who  by  his 
singular  authority  in  science  was  known  to 
nearly  all  the  world  and  was  illustrious 
wherever  he  was  known,  learned  in  the  school 
of  Christ  to  remain  meek  and  lowly  and,  as  it 
is  but  right  to  believe,  he  has  returned  to 
Him."  The  good  Abbot  of  Cluny  did  even 
more  than  this,  for  he  personally  conveyed 
the  body  of  his  friend  to  Paraclete  to  the 

1  AT  VESPERS 

(One  of  ninety-three  hymns  written  by  Abelard  for  the 
use  of  Heloise  and  her  nuns.) 

Oh,  what  shall  be,  oh,  when  shall  be,  that  holy  Sabbath  day, 
Which  heavenly  care  shall  ever  keep  and  celebrate  alway, 
When  rest  is  found  for  weary  limbs,  when  labour  hath  reward, 
When  everything  for  evermore  is  joyful  in  the  Lord? 

Then,  there  secure  from  every  ill,  in  freedom  we  shall  sing 
The  songs  of  Zion  hindered  here  by  days  of  suffering, 
And  unto  Thee,  our  gracious  Lord,  our  praises  shall  confess 
That  all  our  sorrow  hath  been  good,  and  Thou  by  pain  canst 
bless. 


Abbey  Pilgrimages  381 

guardianship  of  Heloise,  comforting  her  in 
touching  letters  with  his  confidence  in  their 
future  reunion. 

Saint  Bernard  in  his  contest  with  Abelard 
and  in  his  harsh  judgment  of  Peter  the  Vener- 
able, shows  the  unlovely  side  of  his  nature, 
and  yet  his  intolerance  was  perfectly  in  accord 
with  the  simplicity  and  singleness  of  his  faith. 
He  was  a  man  of  many  contrasts,  personally 
all  gentleness  and  humility,  but  when  he  be- 
lieved himself  the  mouth-piece  of  God  he 
lashed  hypocrites  even  when  his  superiors. 
So  he  once  reminded  the  Pope  that  the  dig- 
nity with  which  he  was  clothed  did  not  hinder 
him  from  being  in  himself  naked,  poor,  and 
miserable,  made  for  labour  and  not  for 
honours,  and  that  a  pope  without  wisdom 
gains  no  more  respect  from  the  elevation  of 
his  position  than  a  gibbering  ape  upon  a  roof. 
When  Suger,  Abbot  of  Saint  Denis,  neglected 
his  Abbey  to  become  Prime  Minister,  and  en- 
tertained the  King  and  his  Court  at  Saint 
Denis,  he  reproached  him  with  making  his 
Abbey  ' '  a  caserne  of  Satan  and  a  barracks  of 
thieves,"  and  he  condemned  the  Clunists  for 
attempting  to  consecrate  art  to  the  service  of 
God.  "The  walls  of  your  churches,"  he 
wrote,  "are  resplendent  while  your  poor  lack 


382  French  Abbeys 

sustenance.  The  Church  gilds  her  stones  and 
leaves  her  children  naked.  With  the  silver 
of  the  miserable  she  charms  the  admiration  of 
the  rich.,, 

The  Abbey  of  Citeaux  itself,  founded  as 
a  reform  and  a  protest  against  the  luxury 
of  Cluny,  seemed  to  Bernard  worldly  in 
its  ambitions,  and  he  retired  to  the  priory 
of  Clairvaux,  where  he  instituted  a  sterner 
rule. 

His  cherished  plans  perished.  The  crusade 
which  we  will  find  him  preaching  at  Vezelay 
was  a  mistake;  even  his  convent  of  Clair- 
vaux after  his  death  became  wealthy  and  cor- 
rupt, the  Church  for  whose  supremacy  he 
had  laboured  submitted  to  the  monarchy, 
heresy,  whose  seeds  in  Abelard's  philosophy 
he  thought  he  had  blotted  out,  sprang  up  a 
fruitful  crop  all  over  France. 

"What,  then,"  asks  an  eminent  writer,1  "was  the 
work  of  Bernard?  The  futile  opposition  of  a  man  of 
genius  to  the  currents  of  his  century,  perhaps  a  re- 
tarding force  in  the  normal  development  of  the  age 
...  he  has  nevertheless  left  to  the  world  the  ex- 
ample of  an  energy  and  a  virtue  which  surpassed 
humanity." 

xAchille  Lachaise  in  the  Revue  Historique,  1899. 


Abbey  Pilgrimages  383 

V 

THE  ABBEY  OF  VEZELAY 

Well  worthy  a  visit,  apart  from  any  his- 
torical interest,  is  the  Citadel  -  Abbey  of 
Vezelay. 

True,  it  lies  some  twelve  miles  from  the 
nearest  railroad  station  (and  from  the  only 
endurable  hostelry,  Avallon),  but  this  will 
give  excuse  for  a  driving  tour  through  the 
Morvan,  a  northern  spur  of  the  Cevennes,  and 
one  of  the  most  picturesque  regions  in  eastern 
France. 

There  is,  moreover,  a  peculiar  fitness  in 
visiting  and  studying  this  monastery  in  con- 
nection with  Cluny,  for  the  development  of 
the  domination  of  the  great  Abbey  which  we 
have  considered  is  best  traced  in  the  history 
of  her  dependencies,  and  in  none  more 
typically  than  in  that  of  the  Abbey  of  Veze- 
lay. It  gives  us  also  one  of  the  most  dramatic 
episodes  in  the  history  of  Saint  Bernard, 
showing  him  to  us  at  the  very  culminating 
point  of  his  popularity,  when  he  must  have 
felt  that  he  had  achieved  a  triumph  worthy 
of  his  life  of  sacrifice. 

It  was  not  until  the  year  1096  that  this 
Abbey   submitted   to   the    spiritual    rule    of 


384  French  Abbeys 

Cluny  and  accepted  Artaud,  a  Clunisian,  as 
its  Abbot.  In  doing  so  it  converted  a  power- 
ful rival  into  an  ally;  and  Vezelay  had  need 
of  assistance  in  holding  its  own  against  two 
adversaries  of  a  more  mercenary  character 
than  the  great  Order  which  sought  only  the 
prestige  of  becoming  its  maison-mere.  The 
Bishop  of  Autun  and  the  Comte  de  Nevers 
both  claimed  seigneurial  rights  over  the  Abbey 
under  the  feudal  system,  claims  which  were 
enforced  by  the  Count  of  Nevers  by  forays 
upon  the  estates  of  the  Abbey;  for  Vezelay 
had  prospered  and  was  rich  in  this  world's 
goods.  An  earlier  Abbot  had  discovered  (in- 
vented, says  the  chronicle)  the  relics  of  Saint 
Mary  Magdalen,  and  pilgrims  flocked  from 
every  quarter  to  venerate  them.  The  towns- 
people outside  the  Abbey  walls  drove  a  thriv- 
ing trade  as  innkeepers  in  providing  for  their 
entertainment.  Travelling  merchants  had 
followed  the  pilgrims  and  had  found  such  a 
good  mart  for  their  wares  that  they  estab- 
lished themselves  as  citizens  in  the  town, 
which  took  upon  itself  the  aspect  of  a  fair.  A 
market  was  thus  formed  for  the  products 
of  the  region  and  as  the  townspeople  and 
the  monks  became  opulent  the  greed  of  the 
Bishop  of  Autun  and  the  Count  of  Nevers  to 


CO  v 

2  1 

r  o 

u.  = 


2    I 

O     « 


Abbey  Pilgrimages  385 

collect  their  taxes  and  tithes  became  more 
rapacious.  But  Abbot  Artaud  was  a  man 
of  fearless  courage,  challenging  them  to  at- 
tack an  Abbey  of  the  powerful  order  of  Cluny. 
He  not  only  held  his  own  against  foes  without, 
but  he  beautified  the  Abbey  within,  building 
the  magnificent  Church  of  the  Madeleine  in 
the  style  of  the  Burgundian  Romanesque 
which  his  brother  Clunisians  had  adopted.1 

The  domineering  Abbot  was  to  pay  dearly 
for  his  love  of  building.  To  defray  the  cost 
he  imposed  taxes  on  the  townspeople,  which 
so  infuriated  them  that  they  assassinated 
him  before  the  altar  of  the  new  church. 

But  a  more  ambitious  and  abler  Abbot  than 
Artaud  presently  took  his  seat,  in  the  person 
of  Ponce  de  Montboissier,  who,  though  own 
brother  of.  Peter  the  Venerable,  defended  the 
independence  of  Vezelay  against  all  con- 
testants, including  Cluny  itself.  He  lived  to 
see  the  Count  of  Nevers  annihilated,  the 
Bishop  of  Autun  humiliated,   the  turbulent 

1  It  was  a  successor  of  Abbot  Artaud  who  built  the  ogival 
choir  and  transept  and  who  introduced  the  five  elaborate 
Gothic  windows  with  trefoil  arches  over  the  portal,  so  richly 
ornamented  with  statues  in  canopied  niches.  The  illustra- 
tion from  a  drawing  before  the  restoration  by  Viollet  le  Due, 
plainly  shows  the  introduction  of  this  group  of  later  windows 
into  the  facade  of  the  original  Romanesque  edifice. 

25 


386  French  Abbeys 

commune  pacified,  and  his  own  Alma  Mater, 
Cluny,  bereft  of  her  spiritual  child. 

For  after  the  rule  of  Peter  the  Venerable  the 
great  mother  Abbey  entered  upon  the  days  of 
her  decadence.  Wealth  had  brought  ener- 
vation, and  the  truly  religious  both  within  and 
without  her  domination  were  eager  for  reform. 

The  Abbot  Ponce  de  Montboissier  was  not 
only  daring  but  astute ;  he  could  discern  the 
tendency  of  the  time,  and  though  he  was  not 
himself  a  religious  enthusiast  he  knew  how  to 
make  such  enthusiasm  serve  his  ends.  A 
great  popular  movement  was  stirring  France. 
The  cry  rang  through  Christendom,  ' '  Protect 
the  holy  city  from  the  infidel."  The  King 
of  France,  Louis  VII. ,  had  sins  upon  his  con- 
science for  which  he  was  sincerely  repentant, 
but  his  chief  councillor,  Suger,  opposed  a  cru- 
sade. For  once  the  astute  Abbot  of  Saint 
Denis  overreached-  himself :  his  cold  worldly 
wisdom  arguing  the  inadvisability  of  the 
crusade  fell  upon  ears  stirred  by  the  more 
potent  reasoning  of  Bernard:  "What  shall  it 
profit  a  man  if  he  gain  the  whole  world  and 
lose  his  own  soul?  " 

The  Abbot  Ponce  saw  his  opportunity  and 
offered  Vezelay  as  the  rendezvous  for  more 
complete    discussion    of   the    subject.      The 


Sff^i^j 


CHURCH    OF   LA    MADELEINE,    ABBEY   OF   VEZELAY. 
From  Villes  du  Departement  de  /'  Yonne,  by  Victor  Petit. 


CHURCH  OF  THE  ABBEY  OF  LA  CHAISE  DIEU. 
By  permission  of  Neurdein  Freres. 


Abbey  Pilgrimages  38 7 

townspeople  were  delighted  at  this  stroke  of 
diplomacy.  It  meant  for  them  much  that 
an  international  exposition  does  for  a  city  in 
our  own  time — a  fictitious  impulse  to  all  its 
industries  and  much  gainful  pillage  of  the 
great  convocation  of  pilgrims.  It  meant  also 
entertainment,  excitement,  the  pageant  of 
chivalry  and  royalty,  miracle  plays  and 
thrilling  of  pulses  under  sensational  preaching 
for  the  devout,  and  clandestine  amusements 
of  a  questionable  character  for  the  un- 
godly. For  months  beforehand  the  country 
round  poured  its  stores  of  food  and  drink  and 
forage  into  Vezelay.  There  never  was  a 
more  popular  Abbot  than  Ponce  de  Mont- 
boissier,  and  his  praise  was  in  the  mouths  of 
the  very  communards  who  had  howled  for 
the  death  of  Artaud,  for  to  Vezelay  on  the 
following  summer  came  the  King  and  Queen 
with  their  Court,  with  prelates  and  knights 
and  an  innumerable  multitude  of  lesser  folk. 
Hither,  too,  the  Abbot  had  induced  Bernard 
to  come  to  address  the  vast  assembly  from  a 
pavilion  pitched  on  the  plain  outside  the  walls. 
The  saint  gave  free  rein  to  his  impassioned 
eloquence.  The  beautiful  Queen  Eleanor  of 
Aquitaine  sat  beside  him,  "but,"  says  the 
chronicle,  "no  one  noticed  her." 


388  French  Abbeys 

Wild  enthusiasm  greeted  the  words  with 
which  he  closed  his  long  harangue : 

"Christian  warriors,  He  who  gave  His  life  for  you 
to-day  demandeth  yours;  illustrious  knights,  noble  de- 
fenders of  the  Cross,  call  to  mind  the  example  of  your 
fathers  who  conquered  Jerusalem,  and  whose  names 
are  written  in  heaven!  The  living  God  hath  charged 
me  to  tell  you  that  He  will  punish  those  who  will  not 
defend  Him  against  His  enemies.  Fly  to  arms,  and  let 
Christendom  re-echo  with  the  words  of  the  prophet — 
Woe  to  him  who  dyeth  not  his  sword  with  blood! " 

Shouts  of  ' '  God  wills  it ! ' '  rent  the  air.  The 
King,  kneeling,  received  the  cross,  and  the  re- 
luctant Abbot  Suger,  whose  practical  mind 
foresaw  that  the  crusade  must  be  a  failure, 
was  left  to  carry  on  the  government  of  France 
in  the  absence  of  its  sovereign. 

Abbot  Ponce,  as  shrewd  as  Suger,  knew 
that  crusading  could  bring  him  only  hardship 
and  danger  and  prudently  remained  in  his 
comfortable  Abbey.  His  deep-laid  schemes 
had  prospered.  Vezelay,  rich  and  illustrious, 
now  stood  clear  from  all  domination  but  his 
own,  and  even  the  truculent  Count  of  Nevers 
had  been  so  smitten  to  the  heart  by  the 
preaching  of  Bernard  that,  confessing  himself 
unworthy  to  fight  for  the  Holy  Sepulchre,  he 
had  renounced  his  great  estates  and  taken 
upon  himself  the  vows  of  a  simple  monk. 


Abbey  Pilgrimages  389 

What  other  designs  were  floating  in  his 
ambitious  brain  we  know  not,  for  suddenly, 
in  the  midst  of  his  triumphs,  the  great  bell 
of  the  Madeleine  tolled  for  the  most  arrogant 
of  the  Lord-Abbots  of  Vezelay — the  high  and 
mighty  seigneur,  Ponce  de  Montboissier. 

The  prestige  of  the  hospitality  extended  to 
all  France  with  so  munificent  a  hand  made 
Vezelay  the  rendezvous  a  half -century  later 
for  Richard  Coeur  de  Lion  and  Philippe 
Auguste,  as  with  their  armies  they  set  out 
upon  another  and  equally  disastrous  crusade. 

This  was  Vezelay's  last  great  day.  From 
this  time  she  steadily  declined  in  importance, 
and  in  1310  the  Abbot  appealed  to  Philippe 
le  Bel  to  protect  the  Abbey  from  the  en- 
croachments of  her  neighbours.  The  desired 
protection  was  granted,  but  at  the  expense 
of  the  autonomy  of  the  Abbey  so  earnestly 
fought  for  by  the  Abbot  Ponce.  From 
that  time  Vezelay,  as  a  dependency  of  the 
royal  demesne,  gained  security  but  entered 
upon  the  period  of  the  abbe's  commendataires 
so  destructive  to  monastic  institutions. 

There  are,  however,  interesting  episodes  in 
its  history  after  this,  as  the  career  of  the 
fighting  Abbot  Hughes  de  Maisonconte  dur- 
ing the  English  invasion. 


39°  French  Abbeys 

The  impregnable,  encircling  walls  and  mas- 
sive sentinel  towers  guarded  town  and  Abbey 
inviolate  through  all  this  stormy  century  and 
later  in  the  religious  wars,  when  (as  related 
in  the  story  of  The  Golden  Mystery),  under 
the  Abbot  Odet  de  Coligny  the  Abbey  of 
Vezelay  was  a  Huguenot  citadel. 

A  citadel  it  is  to-day  even  in  its  ruin,  and 
the  conviction  comes  home  in  the  very  Church 
of  the  Madeleine  that  it  is  because  Vezelay 
was  a  fortress  that  this  noble  church  has  sur- 
vived its  more  magnificent  mother,  Cluny. 

The  supremacy  of  Cluny  dwindled  in  the 
twelfth  century,  as  the  sterner  Cistercians 
rose  to  preponderance,  but  of  the  powerful  Ab- 
bey of  Citeaux  and  Bernard's  famous  Clair- 
vaux  little  remains  to  attract  the  traveller. 

"The  history  of  mediaeval  monasticism,"  says  Pro- 
fessor Emerton,  "is  the  history  of  a  series  of  great 
revivals.  The  singular  thing  is  that  when  the  mon- 
asteries had  got  into  a  bad  way  it  never  occurred  to 
those  most  interested  that  the  fault  might  be  in  the 
monastic  principle  itself,  but  they  invariably  con- 
cluded that  this  principle  had  not  been  carried  out 
thoroughly  enough." 

The  order  of  the  Carthusians  was  also  a 
protest  against  the  luxury  of  the  Benedictines, 
while  the  Franciscans  and  Dominicans  arose 


Abbey  Pilgrimages  391 

as  reformers  of  the  relaxed  rule  of  the  Cis- 
tercians, and  later  the  Feuillants,  the  nuns  of 
Port  Royal,  and  the  monks  of  La  Trappe, 
with  the  earlier  Jesuits,  practised  most  con- 
scientiously the  severest  rigours  which  hu- 
manity could  endure. 

It  is  our  business  "not  to  criticise  but, 
what  is  far  more  difficult,  to  understand.' ' 

The  best  thought,  the  most  fervent  aspira- 
tion, the  most  loving  charity,  was  for  cent- 
uries enshrined  in  the  Abbeys,  and  though 
France  has  repudiated  them  the  world,  in 
spite  of  their  mistakes,  must  look  back  upon 
their  work  with  admiration  and  gratitude. 

The  poet  Gresset,  in  leaving  the  monastic 
life,  thus  voices  the  sentiments  of  modernity: 

"  Adieux  aux  Jesuites  a  M.  l'Abbe  Marguet. 

".     .     .     Ne  pour  l'independance 
Devois  je  plus  long  temps  souflrir  la  violence, 
D'une  lente  captivity? 

Mais  ami,  t'avouerai-je  un  tendre  sentiment 
Que  ton  cceur  genereux  reconnoitra  sans  peine  ? 
Oui,  meme  en  la  brisant,  j'ai  regrette*  ma  chaine! 

Oui,  j'ai  vu  des  mortels,  j'en  dois  ici  l'aveu, 
Trop  combattus,  connus  trop  peu; 
J'ai  vu  des  esprits  vrais,  des  cceurs  incorruptibles 
Voues  a  la  patrie,  a  leurs  rois,  a  leur  Dieu, 


392 


French  Abbeys 


A  leurs  propres  maux  insensibles, 

Prodigues  de  leurs  jours,  tendres,  parfaits  amis, 

Et  souvent  bienfaiteurs  paisibles 

De  leurs  plus  fougueux  ennemis ; 

Trop  estim^s  en  fin  pour  etre  moins  hais. 

Que  d'autres  s'exhalant  dans  leur  haine  insensee, 

En  reproches  injurieux, 

Cherchent  en  les  quittant  a  les  rendre  odieux, 

Pour  moi,  fidele  au  vrai,  fidele  a  ma  pens^e, 

C'est  ainsi  qu'en  partant  je  leurs  fais  mes  adieux! 


APPENDIX 

NOTE  A  (CHAPTER  III) 

Another  sermon  to  the  birds  is  given  in  "The  Life 
of  Saint  Francis  of  Assisi"  from  the  Legende  Santa 
Francisci  of  Saint  Bonaventure,  by  Miss  Lockhart: 

"  And  as  he  was  going  his  way  he  beheld  some  trees 
whereon  sat  birds  well-nigh  without  number,  whereat 
Saint  Francis  marvelled  and  said  to  his  companions, 
Ye  shall  wait  for  me  here  upon  the  way  and  I  will 
preach  unto  my  little  sisters  the  birds  .  .  .  and 
he  said:  Much  bounden  are  ye,  my  little  sisters,  unto 
God  your  Creator.  Ye  sow  not,  neither  do  ye  reap, 
and  God  feedeth  you  and  giveth  you  the  streams 
and  fountains  for  your  drink  and  the  high  trees 
whereon  to  make  your  nests.  And  because  ye  know 
not  how  to  spin  or  sew,  God  clotheth  you.  Where- 
fore your  Creator  loveth  you  much,  and  therefore, 
my  little  sisters,  beware  of  the  sin  of  ingratitude,  and 
study  always  to  give  praises  unto  God." 

NOTE  B  (CHAPTER  III) 

"What  's  his  disease? 
A  very  pestilent  disease,  my  lord, 
They  call  lycanthropia. 
Those  that  are  possessed  therewith  imagine 
Themselves  to  be  transformed  into  wolves, 

393 


394  French  Abbeys 

Steal  forth  to  churchyards  in  the  dead  of  night 
And  dig  dead  bodies  up,  as  two  nights  since 
One  met  the  duke  'bout  midnight  in  a  lane 
Behind  Saint  Mark's  Church,  with  the  leg  of  a  man 
Upon  his  shoulder;   and  he  howled  fearfully, 
Said  he  was  a  wolf,  only  the  difference 
Was,  a  wolf's  skin  was  hairy  on  the  outside, 
His  on  the  inside." 

NOTE  C  (CHAPTER  III) 

John  Addington  Symonds  says  of  the  lords  of 
Baux: 

"The  stern  and  barren  rock  from  which  they 
sprang  and  the  comet  of  their  scutcheon  are  the  true 
symbols  of  their  nature.  History  records  no  end  of 
their  ravages  and  slaughters.  It  is  a  tedious  cata- 
logue of  blood:  how  one  prince  put  to  fire  and 
sword  the  whole  town  of  Courthezon;  how  another 
was  stabbed  in  prison  by  his  wife;  how  a  third  be- 
sieged the  castle  of  his  niece,  and  sought  to  under- 
mine her  chamber,  knowing  her  the  while  to  be  in 
childbed;  how  a  fourth  was  flayed  alive  outside  the 
walls  of  Avignon. 

"There  is  nothing  terrible,  splendid,  and  savage  be- 
longing to  feudal  history  of  which  an  example  may 
not  be  found  in  the  Annals  of  Les  Baux,  as  narrated 
by  their  chronicler,  Jules  Canouge." 

The  heraldic  symbol  of  the  comet  and  their  battle- 
cry,  "Au  hasard  Balthazar,"  are  explained  when  we 
remember  that  the  name  Bauz  is  derived  from  Bal- 
thazar, which,   again,  is  the    Greek   equivalent   for 


Appendix  395 

Belshazzar;  and  the  lords  of  Baux  were  as  proud  to 
believe  themselves  descended  from  the  son  of  Ne- 
buchadnezzar of  Babylon  as  from  the  Balthazar  who 
was  one  of  the  three  kings  who  saw  the  star  in  the 
east,  and  followed  it,  bringing  gifts  to  the  new-born 
Christ. 

Vidal  has  not  been  traduced  in  this  story.  He 
says  of  himself  in  what  has  been  rightly  called  the 
"chef  d'ceuvre  de  la  gasconade" : 

"In  boldness  I  am  as  good  as  Roland  and  Olivier. 
Messengers  come  to  me  with  rings  of  gold  and  such 
love  letters  that  my  heart  rejoices.  In  all  things  I 
show  myself  a  knight.  I  know  the  whole  business 
of  love  and  all  that  pertains  to  gallantry,  for  you 
never  saw  one  so  charming  in  a  lady's  chamber  nor 
one  so  proud  and  so  mighty  in  arms,  for  which 
reason  even  such  as  do  not  see  me  are  afraid  of  me." 

(See  The  Troubadours  at  Home,  by  Professor  Jus- 
tin H.  Smith,  chapter  xviii.  and  notes.) 

NOTE  A  (CHAPTER  V) 

There  is  no  hunt  so  interesting,  because  none  so 
elusive,  as  the  hunt  for  a  particular  story  which  has 
half  revealed  itself  in  some  old  document  and  then 
incontinently  taken  to  the  woods.  For  years  I  had 
been  intrigued  by  this  beautiful  series  of  tapestries. 
At  each  return  to  the  Cluny  Museum  the  Lady  of  the 
Unicorn  attracted  and  mystified  me.  Experts  could 
only  hazard  the  opinion  that  it  was  from  the  Aubusson 
manufactory  with  a  guess  at  the  date,  and  it  was  re- 
served for  a  writer  of  fiction  to  put  me  on  the  track 
of  the  facts. 


396  French  Abbeys 

Wandering  one  summer  through  George  Sand's 
enchanting  country  of  Berry  and  Marche,  and  using 
her  books  as  our  guide,  we  came  upon  Bourganeuf, 
with  its  commandery  of  Knights  Hospitallers  and 
its  legend  of  Aubusson  and  Zizim.  Close  at  hand  was 
the  manufactory  of  Aubusson  and,  forming  a  triangle 
with  these  points,  the  old  castle  of  Boussac.  Some- 
where in  this  region  we  felt  the  mysterious  lady  must 
have  lived  and  have  known  both  the  Commander 
of  the  Hospitallers  and  his  romantic  prisoner,  and 
suddenly  George  Sand,  in  her  Promenades  autour 
oVun  Village,  opened  the  door  of  the  castle  and 
showed  us  the  tapestries  as  she  saw  them  in  1857: 

"It  is  to  be  wished,"  she  wrote,  "that  the  admin- 
istration of  Fine  Arts  would  cause  copies  to  be  made. 
I  says  copies,  because  the  same  entourage  is  required 
for  the  feudal  chateau  and  the  effigy  of  its  beautiful 
chatelaine  which  is  there  in  its  natural  frame." 

Madame  Sand's  description  was  a  complete  iden- 
tification of  the  Cluny  tapestries,  the  quarry  whose 
trail  I  had  so  long  sought: 

"It  is  the  entire  life  of  a  Merveilleuse  of  that  time. 
The  chic  in  the  cut  of  the  garments,  the  brilliancy  of 
the  agrafes  of  precious  stones,  and  the  transparency 
of  the  gauze  is  rendered  with  a  facility  which  time 
has  not  destroyed.  In  many  of  the  panels  a  young 
girl  dressed  more  simply  is  represented  at  the  lady's 
side  offering  her  flowers  or  jewels,  and  elsewhere 
her  favourite  bird.  ...  A  white  unicorn  and  a 
lion  hold  lances  with  pennons.  And  here  is  what 
demands  a  commentary — the  crescent  is  sown  in  pro- 
fusion on  the  standards  and  the  lance  shafts." 


Appendix  397 

Madame  Sand  then  quotes  the  conclusions  of  her 
friend,  Monsieur  de  la  Touche,  who  in  turn  gives  his 
authorities,  and  after  this  rousing  of  the  game,  with 
such  chroniclers  as  Philippe  de  Commines  and  the 
Jesuit  Rocoles  in  full  cry,  it  was  not  difficult  to  run 
it  to  earth  in  the  legend  of  the  "Blonde  Agnes." 

NOTE  A  (CHAPTER  VI) 

A  Catholic  historian,  Puy  Laurens,  gives  this  ac- 
count of  the  deed: 

"The  Count  Simon,  having  thus  taken  the  castle, 
caused  the  above-named  Aimeri,  a  notable  noble- 
man, to  be  hanged  upon  a  gibbet;  also  a  small  num- 
ber of  knights.  The  other  nobles,  to  the  number  of 
about  eighty,  were  put  to  the  sword,  and  lastly, 
some  three  hundred  heretics,  burned  in  this  world, 
were  thus  given  over  by  him  to  eternal  fire;  and 
Guirande,  the  lady  of  the  chateau,  cast  into  a  well, 
was  there  crushed  with  stones." 

NOTE  B  (CHAPTER  VI) 

For  the  unvarnished  historical  facts  from  which 
this  story  is  drawn,  see  Bernard  Delicieux  et  V In- 
quisition Albigeoise,  by  B.  Haureau,  Membre  de 
l'lnstitut. 

NOTE  A  (CHAPTER  VII) 

Gresset  describes  the  linguistic  accomplishments 
acquired  by  Ver  Vert  during  his  voyage  down  the 
Loire  in  the  following  terms : 

"II  entonna  tous  les  horribles  mots 
Qu'il  avait  su  rapporter  des  bateaux. 


398  French  Abbeys 

Jurant,  sacrant  d'une  voix  dissolue 

Faisant  passer  tout  l'enfer  en  revue. 

'Jour  de  Dieu!     Mor!     Mille  pipes  de  diables!' 

Toute  la  grille  a  ces  mots  effroyables, 

Tremble  d'horreur;   les  nonnettes  saris  voix 

Font  en  fuyant  mille  signes  de  croix." 

The  poem  entitled  Le  Triomphe  de  V Amant  Vert 
was  written  for  Marguerite  and  has  long  been  the 
puzzle  of  critics.  Grave  discussion  as  to  who  this 
"Green  Lover"  may  have  been,  (who  is  said  to  have 
died  of  grief  and  to  have  sought  his  lady  through  the 
realms  of  Hades,)  has  from  time  to  time  occupied  the 
pens  of  savants.  One  believed  that  the  author  of 
the  poem,  Jean  Lemaire,  meant  thus  to  designate 
himself,  and  our  critic  marvels  that  the  poet  could 
have  had  the  audacity  to  imagine  that  such  public 
declaration  of  his  love  would  be  pleasing  to  the 
Duchess  of  Savoy. 

And  yet  the  meaning  is  sufficiently  apparent. 
The  " Green  Lover"  boasts  his  facility  in  language, 
in  spite  of  his  birth  in  Ethiopia,  and  laments  that  he 
could  not  change  his  clothing  to  black  when  his 
mistress  was  in  mourning. 

"Plut  a  Dieu  que  mon  corps  assez  beau 
Fut  transforme  pour  cette  heure  en  corbeau, 
Et  mon  collier  vermeil  et  pourpurin, 
Fut  aussi  brun  qu'un  Maure  ou  Barbarin 
Lors  te  plairais  je,  et  ma  triste  laideur 
Me  vaudrait  mieux  que  ma  belle  verdeur." 

It  is  even  possible  that  the  princes  of  the  house  of 
Savoy  regarded  the  parrot  as  a  mascot,  for,  oddly 


Appendix  399 

enough,  in  the  preceding  century  the  only  gift  which 
Count  Amadeus  VI. ,  returning  from  an  unsuccessful 
crusade,  brought  his  wife  was  a  parrot.  (See  The 
Romance  of  the  House  of  Savoy,  by  Althea  Wiel,  vol. 

i.,  p.  220.) 

NOTE  A  (CHAPTER  XV) 

A  mystery  surrounds  the  death  of  the  Duchess  of 
Montbazon.  The  explanation  ordinarily  given  is 
that  the  Duchess  died  suddenly  from  a  malignant 
fever;  that  for  some  reason,  either  because  the  coffin 
was  too  short  or  from  a  supposed  necessity  of  their 
ghoulish  craft,  the  embalmers  severed  her  head  from 
her  body  and  laid  it  in  the  dish  in  the  boudoir  while 
continuing  their  task  in  the  adjoining  chamber. 

This  story  is  most  improbable.  Had  her  husband 
survived  her  the  dealings  of  the  De  Rohans  in  the 
past  with  their  unfaithful  wives  would  rouse  a  sus- 
picion as  to  the  manner  of  her  taking-off.  But  the 
Duke  of  Beaufort  was  also  violent  and  brutal  enough 
to  have  killed  her  in  a  moment  of  jealousy. 

He  was  the  proprietor,  as  we  know,  of  the  neigh- 
bouring chateau  of  Chenonceaux,  where  he  had 
hidden  from  Mazarin.  If  the  belief  of  the  fishwives 
of  the  Halles  that  he  was  living  at  this  time  was  true 
another  solution  to  the  problem  is  imaginable. 

Of  the  Abbe  de  Ranee  after  his  conversion  we  have 
the  most  authentic  and  precise  information,  both 
from  his  own  writings  and  those  of  his  contemporaries. 

Saint  Simon  wrote  in  his  memoirs:  " Monsieur  de 
la  Trappe  had  for  me  a  charm  which  attached  me  to 
him,  and  the  holiness  of  the  place  enchanted  me.  I 
returned  to  it  every  year  for  weeks  at  a  time." 


400  French  Abbeys 

On  one  occasion  the  Duke  took  the  painter  Rigaud 
with  him,  who  executed  a  portrait  of  Ranee'  from 
memory. 

A  tradition  lingers  in  the  neighbourhood  of  La 
Trappe  to  the  effect  that  the  Abbot  who  succeeded 
Ranee  showed  to  visitors  a  reliquary  containing  a 
skull  which  he  assured  them  was  that  of  the  Duchess 
of  Montbazon,  and  Chateaubriand  in  his  Life  of  the 
Abbe,  concludes:  "It  is  not  improbable  that  Ranc£ 
obtained  the  relic  which  he  adored." 

(See  also,  Les  Veritables  Motifs  de  la  Conver- 
sion de  VAbbe  de  La  Trappe,  M.  Laroque,  Cologne, 
MDCLXXXV. 

NOTE  B  (CHAPTER  XV) 

Besides  the  charters  and  deeds  of  Burgundy,  the 
Abbey  possessed  hundreds  of  manuscripts,  nearly  all 
the  work  of  its  own  monks.  While  they  are  princi- 
pally theological,  the  collection  also  comprises  two 
curious  treatises  on  medicine  by  Averroes  and  an 
anonymous  monk  of  Monte  Cassino;  an  essay  by 
Boccaccio,  "Concerning  Mountains,  Fountains,  and 
Rivers,"  and  a  treatise  on  physics  as  taught  at 
Cluny  by  Dom  Gand.  •  There  are  also  works  on  law 
and  some  transcriptions  of  the  classics.  The  initial 
letters  and  illuminated  borders  of  the  missals  and 
other  books  executed  by  monks  of  the  middle  ages, 
now  preserved  in  the  Bibliotheque  Nationale  of  Paris, 
show  how  artistic  and  beautiful  was  the  work  of  the 
masters  of  this  art.  The  books  are  many  of  them 
bound  in  repoussee  gold  and  silver  set  with  gems  and 


Appendix  401 

relics,  or  in  panels  of  ivory  exquisitely  traced,  or  in 
velvet  embroidered  with  gold  thread  and  pearls. 

These  gems  of  art  were  executed  in  unheated  and 
in  poorly  lighted  scriptoria.  The  transcriber  of 
Saint  Jerome's  Commentary  says:  "While  I  wrote 
I  froze,  and  what  I  was  not  able  to  finish  during  the 
day  was  ended  by  moonlight.  (Dum  scripsit  friguit, 
et  quod  cum  lumine  solis  scribere  non  posuit  perfecit 
lumine  noctis.)" 

Only  a  few  names  of  artists  have  come  down  to 
us.  Jean  Bourdichon  is  high  upon  the  list  as  the 
illuminator  of  the  Livre  (THeures  of  Anne  de  Bre- 
tagne,  so  remarkable  for  its  botanical  and  entomo- 
logical accuracy.      (See  reproduction  in  colour.) 

Good  King  Rene  is  famed  as  an  illuminator,  and 
the  Abbeys  of  Montmajour,  Saint  Martial,  and  Saint 
Denis  are  eminent  in  this  exquisite  art. 

Beautiful  examples  of  Jean  Foucquet's  admired 
work  may  be  seen  in  the  collection  of  the  late  Due 
d'Aumale  at  Chantilly;  but  no  French  illuminators 
were  so  revered  as  the  Frati  Jacopo  and  Silvestro, 
whose  right  hands  are  preserved  as  sacred  relics  at  the 
Abbey  of  Carnal doli. 

The  three  favourite  illuminators  of  that  great 
patron  of  art,  the  Due  de  Berry,  were  Adrien  Beau- 
neveu,  Jacquemart  de  Hendin,  and  Pierre  de  Lem- 
burg.  Two  reproductions  from  MSS.  executed  for 
the  Due  de  Berry  (in  the  fourteenth  century)  are 
used  as  tail-pieces  in  this  volume.  The  figures  with 
clasped  hands  (page  392)  are  the  duke  and  his  bride, 
Jeanne  de  Boulogne.  The  ivy  vine  is  a  character- 
istic motive  of  this  period. 

26 


402  French  Abbeys 

Attention  may  be  drawn  in  this  connection  to  the 
symbolism  in  the  head-pieces  so  carefully  studied 
from  mediaeval  sources  by  Miss  Eleanor  Eayres 
Gardner. 

Chapter  I. — Trefoil  and  seven  stars,  symbols  of 
mystery. 

Chapter  II. — Copy  of  original  sign  of  Frere  Placide's 
shop,  supported  by  similar  scroll-work  containing  the 
words  Requiescat  in  Pace. 

Chapter  III. — Tracery  from  illumination  by  monks 
of  Montmajour.  Butterflies  escaping  from  jaws  of 
wolves.  Central  vignette,  cloister  and  donjon-keep 
of  Abbey  of  Montmajour. 

Chapter  IV. — Madonna,  symbol  of  Saint  Bernard's 
vision.  Three  mitres  =  three  bishoprics  refused  by 
him.     Beehive  =  Abbey  of  Clairvaux. 

Chapter  V. — Chivalric  weapons. 

Chapter  VI. — Coat-of-arms  of  Albi,  with  dripping 
daggers,  symbolic  of  Inquisition.  Blackberry  vine, 
thorns  =  tribulation ;  fruit  =  success. 

Chapter  VII. — Parrot  and  mistletoe. 

Chapter  VIII. — Church  and  fleur-de-lys. 

Chapter  IX. — Flageolet  wreathed  in  lentil  foliage, 
the  symbol  of  Saint  Bruno. 

Chapter  X. — Crown  of  thorns;  eglantine. 

Chapter  XI. — Dragon. 

Chapter  XII.— Bell  of  Mont  Saint  Michel. 

Chapter  XIII. — Galleon  and  emblems  of  Mercury 
=  flight;  crozier  =  emblems  of  an  abbot. 

Chapter  XIV. — Symbol  of  sacrifice.  Emblems  of 
Joan  of  Arc. 

Chapter  XV. — Pilgrim  staves  and  shells. 


Appendix  403 

Our  cloister  gleanings  are  ended,  but  by  no  means 
finished,  for  no  reference  has  been  made  to  the 
Abbeys  of  middle  and  south-western  France,  and  this 
from  no  lack  of  material.  It  is  almost  unpardon- 
able to  pass  over  Fontevrault,  so  intimately  con- 
nected with  the  Plantagenets,  and  Sainte  Trinity  of 
Vendome  with  the  Bourbons,  while  the  entire  Parisian 
group,  and  especially  the  vanished  Temple,  and  Saint 
Germain  des  Pr£s,  so  pre-eminent  that  the  French 
refer  to  it  simply  as  "L'Abbaye,"  cry  shame  upon 
our  neglect,  while  the  good  nuns  of  Port  Royal  and 
the  naughty  ones  of  Chelles  and  many  another 
nunnery  demand  "Place  aux  dames. "  But  fie  upon 
our  greediness!  Shall  we  leave  nothing  untouched 
for  those  who  come  later?  And  gentle  George  Her- 
bert reminds  us  that 

"The  courteous  guest 
Will  no  more  talk  all  than  eat  all  the  feast." 

So  gentle  reader — Vale  et  benidicite! 


AUTHORITIES 

OTHER  THAN  THOSE  REFERRED  TO  IN  NOTES 

Basquin,  Dom  Andre,  Moine  Benedictin  L'Abbaye 
de  Saint  Wandrille. 

La  Biographie  Universelle. 

Bonhours,  P.,  Vie  de  Pierre  d'Aubusson. 

Chartreux,  Un,  La  Grande  Chartreuse. 

Cherest,  M.  A.,  Vezelay,  Etude  Historique. 

Corroyer,  Ed.,  U Architecture  Gothique. 

Cucherat,  L'Abbe\  Cluny  au  X/me  Steele. 

Dupasquier,  Louis  (Restorer  of  the  Church)  U 
Eglise  de  Brou. 

Fay,  R.  E.,  French  Painting  in  the  Middle  Ages. 

Gaillardin,  Les  Trappistes,  L'Ordre  de  Citeaux. 

Gaily,  M.  (Chanoine  de  Sens,  Ancien  President  de 
la  Soceite  d'Etudes  d'Avallon),  Vezelai  Monastique. 

Germain  Dom  Michel,  and  Mabillon,  Monasticon 
Gallicanum,  pub.  1645. 

Gonse,  Louis,  UArt  Gothique. 

La  Grande  Encyclopedie. 

Gresset,  Poems. 

Guadet,  J.,  Professeur  a  l'Ecole  des  Beaux  Arts, 
Elements  et  Theorie  de  U  Architecture  >  tome  iii. ;  Les 
Edifices  Religieux. 

Hare,  Augustus,  Walks  in  Southern  France. 
405 


406  French  Abbeys 

Helyot,  Histoire  des  Ordres  Religieux. 

Honnecourt,  Villard  de,  Album  of  Drawings  at 
Bibliotheque  Nationale. 

Hippeau,  M.,  UAbbaye  de  Saint  Etienne  de  Caen. 

Herard,  M.,  Etudes  Archeologiques  sur  les  Abbayes 
de  VAncien  Diocese  de  Paris. 

Jameson,  Mrs.,  History  of  the  Monastic  Orders. 

Lasteyrie,  Robert  de,  et  Quicherat,  Melanges  d' 
Histoire  et  d'Archeologie. 

Lasteyrie,  Ferdinand  de,  Histoire  de  la  Peinture 
sur  Verre. 

Labetti,  Alphonse,  Les  Manuscrits  et  V Art  de  les 
Orner. 

Lama,  Charles  de,  Bibliotheque  des  Ecrivains  de  la 
Congregation  de  Saint  Maur. 

Lenormant,  Charles,  UAbbaye  de  Solesmes. 

Lentheric,  C,  Le  Rhone  {Les  Freres  Pontifes). 

La  Rousse  Encyclopedic 

Male,  Emile,  UArt  Religieux  du  XIII.  Siecle  en 
France. 

Marquessac,  Baron  H.  de,  Hospitaliers  de  Saint 
Jean  de  Jerusalem. 

Michel,  Auvergne  et  Velay. 

Montalembert,  Le  Comte  de,  The  Monks  of  the  West. 

Normand,  Charles,  Guide  Archeologique  de  Paris. 

Penjon,  A.,  Professeur  a  l'Ecole  de  Cluny,  Cluny, 
La  Ville  et  UAbbaye. 

Petit,  Victor,  Ville s  et  Campagnes  du  Departement 
de  VYonne. 

Por£e,  le  Chanoine  (Ancien  Directeur  de  la  Societe" 
des  Antiquaires  de  Normandie),  Historie  de  V Abbaye 
du  Bee. 


Authorities  407 

Pommeraye,  Francois  de,  L'Abbaye  de  Saint  Ouen. 

Putnam,  George  Haven,  Books  and  their  Makers 
during  the  Middle  Ages. 

Quicherat,  Jules,  Documents  Inedits. 

Ricard,  E.,  Cluny  et  ses  Environs. 

Sabatier,  Paul  de,  Saint  Francis  of  Assist. 

Sainte-Beuve,  Histoire  de  Port  Royal. 

Sommerard,  du,  Les  Arts  du  Moyen  Age. 

Storrs,  Richard  S.,  D.D.,  Bernard  of  Clairvaux. 

Smith,  Professor  Justin  H.,  The  Troubadours  at 
Home. 

Taylor  et  Nodier,  La  Normandie  Monumental  et 
Pittoresque. 

Vertot,  l'Abbe  de,  Histoire  des  Chevaliers  Hos- 
pitaliers  de  S.  Jean  de  Jerusalem. 

Viollet  le  Due,  "Architecture  Monastique,"  in  his 
Dictionnaire  d' Architecture. 

Wallon,  H.  (Secretaire  de  l'Academie  des  In- 
scriptions, etc.),  Jeanne  d'Arc. 


By  ELIZABETH  W.  CHAMPNEY 
Romance  of  the  French  Abbeys 

Octavo.     With  2  Coloured,  9  Photogravure,  50  other 
Illustrations,  and  Ornamental  Headpieces 

"  A  delightful  blending  of  history,  art  and  romance.  .  .  .  Many  of 
the  stories  related  are  thrilling  and  none  the  less  exciting  because  they  belong 
to  history."— Chicago  Dial. 

M  The  book  fully  carries  out  the  suggestion  of  Guizot, 4  If  you  are  fond  of 
romance,  read  history.'  " — Boston  Transcript. 

Romance  of  the  Feudal  Chateaux 

Octavo.    With  40  Photogravure  and  other  Illustrations 

"The  author  has  retold  the  legends  and  traditions  which  cluster  about 
the  chateaux  and  castles,  which  have  come  down  from  the_  Middle  Ages,  with 
the  skillful  touch  of  the  artist  and  the  grace  of  the  practiced  writer.  .  .  . 
The  story  of  France  takes  on  a  new  light  as  studied  in  connection  with  the 
architecture  of  these  fortified  homes."—  Christian  Intelligencer. 

Romance  of 
the  Renaissance  Chateaux 

Octavo.    With  40  Photogravure  and  other  Illustrations 

11  The  romances  of  those  beautiful  chateaux  are  placed  by  the  author  on 
the  lips  of  the  people  who  lived  in  them.  She  gives  us  a  feeling  of  intimacy  with 
characters  whose  names  belong  to  history." — N.  Y.  Mail  and  Express. 

M  A  book  of  high  merit.  .  .  .  Good  history,  good  story,  and  good 
art." — Hartford  Courant. 

Romance  of 
the  Bourbon  Chateaux 

Octavo.     With  Coloured  Frontispiece  and  47  Photo- 
gravure and  other  Illustrations 

"  Told  with  a  keen  eye  to  the  romantic  elements,  and  a  clear  understand- 
ing of  historical  significance."— Boston  Transcript. 

"  It  is  a  book  that  will  be  read  with  interest  this  year  or  ten  or  twenty 
years  hence." —Hartford  Courant. 

Four  volumes.     Illustrated.    Each,  in  a  box,  net,  $3.00 
(By  mail,  $3.25.)   The  set,  4  volumes  in  a  box,  net,  $12.00 

Q.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 

NEW  YORK  LONDON 


FRENCH  HISTORY. 


OLD  COURT  LIFE  IN  FRANCE. 

By  Frances  Elliot.     Illustrated  with  portraits  and   with  views  of  the 

old  chateaux.     2  vols.,  8°,  $4.00.     Half-calf  extra,  gilt  tops     .     $800 

"Mrs.  Elliot's  is  an  anecdotal  history  of  the  French  Court  from  Francis  I.  to  Louis 
XIV.  She  has  conveyed  a  vivid  idea  of  the  personalities  touched  upon,  and  her  book 
contains  a  great  deal  of  genuine  vitality."— Detroit  Free  Press. 

WOMAN  IN  FRANCE  DURING  THE 
EIGHTEENTH  CENTURY. 

By    Julia    Kavanagh,    author    of    "Madeline,"    etc.     Illustrated   with 

portraits  on  steel.     2  vols.,  8°,  $4.00.     Half-calf  extra,  gilt  tops,  $8  00 

"  Miss  Kavanagh  has  studied  her  material  so  carefully,  and  has  digested  it  so  well, 
that  she  has  been  able  to  tell  the  story  of  Court  Life  in  France,  from  the  beginning  of  the 
Regency  to  ,the  end  of  the  revolutionary  period,  with  an  understanding  and  a  sobriety 
that  make  it  practically  new  to  English  readers." — Detroit  Free  Press. 

FRANCE  UNDER  MAZARIN. 

By  James   Breck    Perkins.     With   a   Sketch   of   the   Administration   of 

Richelieu.     Portraits  of  Mazarin,    Richelieu,    Louis  XIII.,   Anne  of 

Austria,  and  Conde.     2  vols.,  8° $400 

"  A  bri-lliant  and  fascinating  period  that  has  been  skipped,  slighted,  or  abused  by  the 
ignorance,  favoritism,  or  prejudice  of  other  writers  is  here  subjected  to  the  closest  scrutiny 
of  an  apparently  judicial  and  candid  student.     .     .     ." — Boston  Literary  World. 

A  FRENCH  AMBASSADOR  AT  THE  COURT  OF 
CHARLES  II. ;  LE  COMTE  DE  COMINGES. 

From    his    unpublished    correspondence.      Edited   by  J.    J.    Jusserand. 

With  10  illustrations,  5  being  photogravures.     8°      .         .         .     $3  50 

11  M.  Jusserand  has  chosen  a  topic  peculiarly  fitted  to  his  genius,  and  treated  it  with 
all  the  advantage  to  be  derived,  on  the  one  hand,  from  his  wide  knowledge  of  English 
literature  and  English  social  life,  and  on  the  other,  from  his  diplomatic  experience  and 
his  freedom  of  access  to  the  archives  of  the  French  Foreign  Office.  .  .  .  We  get  a  new 
and  vivid  picture  of  his  (Cominges')  life  at  the  Court  of  Charles  II.  .  .  .  There  is 
not  a  dull  page  in  the  book." — London   Times. 

UNDERCURRENTS   OF  THE   SECOND 
EMPIRE. 

By  Albert  D.  Vandam,  author  of  "An  Englishman  in  Paris,"  etc.     8°. 

$2  00 

11  Mr.  Vandam  is  an  Englishman,  long  resident  in  Paris,  and  thereby  thoroughly  Gal- 
licized in  his  intellectual  atmosphere  and  style  of  thought  .  .  .  his  style  is  flowing  and 
pleasing,  and  the  work  is  a  valuable  contribution  to  the  history  of  that  time."—  Tkf 
Churchman. 


G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS,  New  York  and  London. 


FRENCH  HISTORY. 


JEANNE  D'ARC,  THE  MAID  OF  FRANCE. 

By  Mrs.  M.  O.  W.  Oliphant.     No.  17  in  the  Heroes  of  the  Nations  Series. 

Fully  illustrated.     Large  120 $1  50 

"  Mrs.  Oliphant  has  written  a  charming  book.  The  style  is  pleasant  and  simple. 
The  reader  is  carried  from  page  to  page  without  the  consciousness  of  fatigue.  The  little 
maid  of  Dom  Remy  has  had  many  a  biographer,  but  none  more  loving  and  sympathetic 
than  our  present  writer." — N.  Y.  Observer. 

HENRY  OF  NAVARRE, 

And  the  Huguenots  in  France.  By  P.  F.  Willert,  M.A.,  Fellow  of  Exe- 
ter College,  Oxford.  No.  9  in  the  Heroes  of  the  Nations  Series. 
Fully  illustrated.     Large  1 2° $150 

41  There  was  room  for  a  bright,  popular  history  of  that  remarkable  warrior  and  mon- 
arch, Henry  IV.  of  France.  This  want  has  been  well  supplied  by  Mr.  Willert,  who  has 
issued  a  volume  of  less  than  500  pages,  which  exhibits  excellent  grip  of  the  subject,  and 
still  more  excellent  discrimination  in  the  dramatic  representation  of  the  central  character." 
—Boston  Transcript. 

LOUIS  XIV., 

And  the  Zenith  of  the  French  Monarchy.  By  Arthur  Hassall,  M.A., 
Student  of  Christ  Church  College,  Oxford.  No.  14  in  the  Heroes  of 
the  Nations  Series.     Fully  illustrated.     Large  12°    .         .         .     $1  50 

M  The  author  of  this  volume  has  well  and  impartially  performed  his  task.  His  style  is 
elegant,  and  at  the  same  time  graphic  and  full  of  force.  His  book  is  a  valuable  contribu- 
tion to  the  student  of  history,  and  it  will  be  welcomed  and  valued  as  it  deserves." — N.  Y. 
Christian  Work. 

NAPOLEON, 

Warrior  and  Ruler,  and  the  Military  Supremacy  of  Revolutionary  France. 

By  W.  O'Connor  Morris.     No.  8  in  the  Heroes  of  the  Nations  Series. 

Fully  illustrated.     Large  12° $i   50 

M  The  book  is  certainly  the  best  modern  account  of  Napoleon  in  the  English  language 
—London  Academy. 

BERTRAND  DU  GUESCLIN, 

Constable  of  France,  His  Life  and  Times.  By  Enoch  Vine  Stoddard, 
M.D.     Illustrated.     8° $1  75 

11  From  the  opening  page  to  the  last  the  story  never  flags.  It  is  so  intensely  real  and 
alive,  it  is  so  full  of  crash  and  conflict,  that  the  reader  sits  Tike  the  spectator  of  some  great 
historic  drama." — N.  Y.  Mail  and  Express. 


AMBROISE  PARE, 


And  His  Times,  15 10-1590.     By  Stephen  Paget,  M. A.     Illustrated.     8°. 

$2  50 

Mr.  Paget^  tells  the  story  of  the  life  of  the  great  French  surgeon  of  the  sixteenth  cen- 
tury. Ambroise  Pare's  life  was  so  full  of  good  works,  adventure,  and  romance,  that  it 
ought  to  be  known  and  honored  in  other  countries  besides  France. 


G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS,  New  York  and  London, 


Rome  of  To-Day  and  Yesterday; 
The  Pagan  City. 

By  John  Dennie.  Fifth  edition,  with  5  maps 
and  plans,  and  58  illustrations  from  Roman 
photographs.  Large  8°  .  .  Net,  $3.50 
Tourists*  Edition.       Flexible  leather,    8°,    gilt 

top -Mr/,  $4.50 

"  Rarely  is  so  much  excellent  and  instructive  archaeological 

matter  presented  in  a  style   so  lucid  and  so  instructive." — 

American  Magazine  of  History. 

Rome  and  the  Renaissance : 
The  Pontificate  of  Julius  II. 

Translated  from  the  French  of  Julian  Klaczko, 
by  John  Dennie,  author  of  "  Rome  of  To-Day 
and   Yesterday,"    etc.      With   52    illustrations. 
8°  ......      Net,  $3.50 

11  Klaczko's  essays  are  full  of  interest,  not  only  on  account 
of  the  grace  and  brilliancy  of  his  manner  of  treating  history 
and  the  vivacity  of  his  style  (which  is  recognizable  even  in 
translation),  but  for  the  immense  suggestiveness  of  his  ideas 
and  the  light  they  shed  on  disputable  problems  of  the  time 
they  treat  of.  Klaczko  is  never  dull  :  he  has  the 

gift  of  telling  a  story  well,  and  creating   the  atmosphere   of 
the  people  of  whom  he  writes." — The  Nation. 

The  Art  of  the  Italian  Renaissance. 

A  Handbook  for  the  Use  of  Students,  Trav- 
ellers, and  Readers.  By  Professor  Wolfflin, 
of  the  University  of  Munich.  8°.  With  over 
100  illustrations     ....      Net,  $2.25 

"  One  of  the  best  of  the  various  books  recently  given  to  the 
public  on  the  Art  of  the  Italian  Renaissance.  The  author  has 
been  able  with  a  severe  self-control  and  a  clear  perception  of 
the  limitations  of  his  design  to  deal  from  the  purely  aesthetic 
standpoint  with  some  of  the  chief  works  of  the  Renaissance. 
The  narrative  is  an  admirable  example  of  clearness  of  treat- 
ment. The  author  writes  tersely  and  always  with  a  definite 
meaning,  and  his  strokes  are  clear  and  telling." — The 
Speaker. 

G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS,  New  York  and  London 


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